A Young Girl's Delinquency Record
by Gremlin Jack
Summary: Desperate to end the war and escape the dangers of the front line, Tanya decides to push her orders to the limit to strike a decisive blow. Unfortunately, she succeeds a bit too well, and finds herself on the wrong side of the law. Still, it's not all bad. Surely a reasonable and intelligent person will have no trouble restoring herself to the status of law-abiding citizen. Right?
1. Chapter 1

A\N: This story is based mostly on the Season 1 anime, but for the characterization of Tanya I lean heavily on jacobk and his most excellent _A Young Woman's Political Record_.

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

**Chapter 1**

**Brest Military Port, Francois Republic, July 10, 1925**

_This is not going to work._

Long, unwilling experience with combat had forced me to become a keen judge of the flow of battle. Thus, even as the first shots were fired, the commander within me had already judged our attack to be a failure.

The reason was simple. There were too few of us. The manned V-1 rockets, which had been the fastest way for the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion to reach Brest, had numbered only nine.

Nine aerial mages, up against what at first glance would be most of an army corps loaded aboard transport ships, with accompanying naval escorts. And let's not forget that the Republic had aerial mages of their own. Fortunately, they seemed to have been out on patrol to keep prying eyes away from the Francois army's evacuation. Our V-1s had blown past them completely, carrying us to the heart of the port city.

Thanks to this good fortune, it meant the nine mages of the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion had all of _five_ minutes to defeat an entire army and navy before the best part of a hundred aerial mages landed on our heads.

Well, perhaps not defeat. Even before embarking on this raid, I'd entertained the possibility of being impossibly outnumbered. The plan, such as it had been, was to cause enough damage to the port facilities to delay the evacuation until the rest of the 203rd could arrive to back us up.

Now that I could see the port for myself, I knew that plan was out the window. The Francois had completed their loading, and the first ships were already headed out the harbor. There was absolutely no way we could delay them for the hour or so it would take for the rest of the 203rd to get here, not with the Francois mages breathing down our necks.

_Not even with the power of the Type 95?_

I bit my lip to silence the siren song of promised power, and clenched the hand that was unconsciously reaching for the accursed computational jewel sitting in my pocket. Now was not the time to lose my head. The rational side of me knew that this was the worst possible time for using the Type 95. Even with all its power, I could at best inflict perhaps 25% casualties on the armada below me. In the meantime, the enemy mages would have caught up and killed all my comrades through sheer numbers, leaving me to fight alone against multiple companies. And it would be a fight - the Type 95 did not allow thoughts of fear or retreat. Mad with power, I would throw myself into the teeth of the enemy until I died or they did, and this time the odds were not on my side. Yes, such an insane action could very well buy the time needed for reinforcements to arrive, but I would still be dead.

_Is that it, then? Do I order the retreat? At least they can't censure me too badly. It was within my authority to launch this raid, and now I have proof I was correct to do so. If anything, they should court-martial the incompetents in theater command for not backing me up when I asked for it! _

That thought felt nice. To go back and see the humiliation of that fool of a general who had ignored my warnings and actually ordered me to stay put when he knew I had independent command! Alas, this too was a fantasy of a different sort. No matter how right I had been, the fact remained that I had completely blown off the instructions of a higher-ranking officer, as well as ignoring the message from HQ warning me not to jeopardize the armistice. While I was legally in the clear, having kept to within the letter of my orders and international law, my previous corporate experience assured me there were many ways my superiors could make my life uncomfortable without actually bringing me up on charges. Just for starters, I could kiss goodbye any hope for future promotion.

No, only by presenting HQ with a sterling success could I hope to save my military career. Far more importantly, only by ending the war, here and now, could I hope to escape the clutches of the execrable Being X. Him, and his tool of corruption, the Elenium Type 95.

When the so called deity had first 'blessed' the Type 95 jewel, I had been furious at how he had tricked me into praying to him. Later, over the Rhine front, I had grown somewhat reconciled to my situation. I had started looking upon the insincere prayers I mumbled to activate the Type 95 as being no different to all the baseless flattery I had lavished on my superiors in my past life. Sometimes, I told myself, you just have to say things you don't mean in order to get ahead in life.

It was only later that I recognized those thoughts as the rationalizations of an addict. And make no mistake, it was an addiction. The clarity, the fearlessness, the euphoria, all that power. I only started becoming aware of how far I was gone after the training of the 203rd. During that training I'd leaned heavily on the Type 95 to keep all the trainees alive (I may have gone a bit overboard with the difficulty), with the result that I had only fragmentary memories of the entire experience. I was vaguely aware that I'd acted during that period as some kind of frothing fanatic, praising god while raining fire and brimstone down on the hapless trainees.

When I finally came out of my fugue and took stock, I found I could no longer deny the deleterious effect the Type 95 was having on my mind. When the Type 97 was issued to the 203rd, I'd immediately tried to turn in the Type 95 and use the new orb instead. Unfortunately, I found myself stymied by orders of from above telling me that Type 95 was too powerful a weapon to remove from the front lines, and so I was to keep hold of it. Luckily, I was able to snag a Type 97 for myself. I told myself, it didn't matter if the Type 95 was still with me, I would just ignore it and use the Type 97 and everything would be fine.

Have you ever imagined how successful a recovering cocaine addict would be if he was told to carry in his pocket a bag full of his favorite drug? It was a most humbling experience to realize I was no different. I could maintain control for days, even months. Then something would happen, some enemy mage would prove more dangerous than usual, some battle would be a bit harder than expected, and before I knew it, I would have a hand in my pocket and a prayer on my lips.

That was why I was here. This was my last, best chance of freeing myself from the devil's bargain I had been forced into. If the Francois army was allowed to escape, this war would last for years. Even if the Empire won in the end, would there be anything left of my mind? True, I didn't feel any different from the person I had been before. But all lunatics believe they are sane.

No, if I wanted to guarantee my sanity, not to mention my career, I had to find some way to stop this evacuation. The only question was _how_? The biggest explosion I could channel through the Type 95 wouldn't be enough against the large number of massive steel hulls below us. I could damage them badly, but warships are designed to be very hard to sink. And I would have to do it while surviving the wall of flak and machine gun fire the Francois were putting into the air. All in five - no, make that four minutes now.

My hand was gripping hard around the Type 95 now. The urge to use it was strong, but it would be of no use. After all, the only time I'd seen the Type 95 come close to doing the kind of damage I needed right now, was back during that fateful test when that lunatic Schugel had taken out... all... the... safeties...

I could feel the smile growing on my face. What a wonderful, awful idea. It most likely won't work. It could definitely get me killed. But one way or another, I would finally be rid of the divine curse poisoning my mind. The thought was so liberating I couldn't help but laugh. Even the concerned expression my adjutant Visha was giving me couldn't lessen my mirth.

"All 203rd members, retreat to height of 5000 meters and brace for impact. I'm making a solo run."

"What? Major, you can't! Let us help you!"

That would be Visha. Good, loyal Visha, but I didn't have time for her now. "Lieutenant Serebryakov, you have your orders! Now go!"

Not knowing or caring if she obeyed, I angled myself down and dove into the teeth of enemy fire. At the same time, I started pouring every bit of magic I could spare into the Type 95. Immediately, I felt it, the supreme joy of being blessed by God. Now I need but express my faith in him, and his divine guidance would allow me to wield his might against the enemies of the Fatherland. I opened my mouth - and bit down on my tongue.

That was close. If I allowed myself to pray it would stabilize the jewel and I would be carried off in a rush of battle-lust. I had to enact my plan now, while I still had control. My maneuvering had brought me to about 1200 meters above sea-level, right above the fleet. Good enough. Steeling my will, I dove deep into the non-Euclidean world of the Type 95's inner workings.

I honestly didn't understand what I saw. But long experience of the lesser Type 97 had given me enough insight to locate what few safeties Schugel had left in the device - and then hit them with a metaphysical sledgehammer.

The effect was immediate - the rate of magic buildup in the Type 95 increased tenfold. Only a tiny bit of that magic was coming from me, and even that much was enough to shut down all my active spells and send me into free fall. This was it. Now all I had to do was drop the unstable jewel, spin up my Type 97, and get myself clear.

I couldn't drop it. _I couldn't drop it._ Even as the air around me was torn by Francois AA fire, even as the magic in the orb built up far past the point of no return, my right hand maintained a death grip on the accursed device. There was no choice. Only the grace of God could save me now. If I threw myself on His divine mercy _\- NO! NOT YET, YOU BASTARD! I'M NOT DONE YET!_

Yanking out my combat knife with my left hand, I stabbed the blade deep between the metacarpals of my index and middle finger. The Type 95 popped out in a spray of blood.

Immediately I spun up the Type 97 to arrest my fall and put up a shield against enemy fire. Below me, I could feel the magic in the Type 95 pulsing faster and faster, like a spinning top about to topple over.

After a few seconds to open up space, I decided to give matters a little nudge. My right hand was still playing host to my knife, so I dragged my gun around with my left. I'd never practiced shooting with my left hand alone, so I cheated with a quick homing spell on the bullet. One shot fired, then I poured every bit of power I could into vertical acceleration.

I'd opened the gap up to a little over a kilometer when the bullet hit. I knew the exact moment, because both my eyes and magical senses were blinded by the second sun that was born beneath my feet.

I clawed towards the sky as the brightness beneath me grew. As the air around me started turning pale, I curled up in a ball and started layering as much shielding and reinforcements over myself as I could. Then the blast wave caught up with me, and all was thunder and light.

Within the heart of the storm, I saw the face of the being that called itself god. In a thunderous voice filled with feigned sadness and genuine anger it admonished me for rejecting the offered path to salvation. With petulance most petty it informed me that even without its interference, my own actions would bring about my downfall. With solicitude that sickened me with its insincerity, it informed me how it had no choice but to leave me to suffer the consequences of my misdeeds, how the true believers in this world would leave me no place to hide from my sins.

It never gave me a chance to speak, which in hindsight might have been for the best. Then the presence was gone, and I was adrift in an ocean of fury and sound.

* * *

When I woke up, the world felt muted, my head felt fuzzy, and I could barely see. I also felt like I was being carried helplessly in a strong pair of arms. _That bastard Being X, did he reincarnate me again?!_

Focusing furiously, I finally managed to clear my head enough to see my surroundings, and breathe a sigh of relief. I was being carried by Visha, the wind whipping around us as we flew through the afternoon sky. Whatever consequences Being X had promised, it seemed I was alive still. Behind me I could sense the fading magic from the cataclysmic demise of the Type 95. Now that I could consider things clearly, I realized the magical detonation might be detectable all the way to Londinium. I wonder, would there be some sort of fallout from all the free magic in the air, like radiation from a nuclear blast? I'm sure the scientists would have fun answering that. Hopefully no one got magical cancer.

An explosion nearby jolted me to alertness. It seemed we were still not quite clear - the first of the Francois aerial mages had gotten within range.

Feeling healthy enough to fly on my own, I started moving to get out, but Visha immediately tightened her grip on me. "Major! You're all right!"

"Yes I am Lieutenant. Now let me go, please, I can fly on my own."

"Ah, actually, you badly overclocked your orb, it almost burned you. I don't think it's usable. Don't worry though, those enemy mages will never catch up to us!"

Reaching up with my hand (knife gone and crudely bandaged, I noted), I felt for my Type 97 only to find a dull pain and singed clothing. Having no other choice, I spent several very uncomfortable minutes trying to relax in Visha's arms as my fellow mages flew all over the sky playing keep-away from the Francois patrols.

Visha was right in a sense that the Francois mages had no real chance of intercepting us. The Type 97 gave us an advantage of over 100 kilometers per hour in top speed and over a thousand meters in maximum ceiling. Our shields were also strong enough to weather the few shots that were on target, and Visha was careful to keep her maneuvering gentle. No, my real source of discomfort was the fact that, for the first time in four years, I was not at home in the sky. Even though I'd only had access to a flight orb for a relatively short amount of time, I'd gotten used to thinking of the sky as safety. Now, I had to once more rely on someone else to carry me through the air, and I didn't like it one bit.

It took a little under half an hour before the most persistent Francois mages gave up the pursuit. Another ten minutes later, the rest of the 203rd showed up to give us an honor guard back to Empire territory. Now that things were less fraught, I asked Visha, "By the way, how much of the Francois fleet did we get? Did we manage to stop the evacuation?"

Visha suddenly grew pale and looked away, "Yeah... I guess you could say that?"

Now, what's with that reaction? Ah, I get it, I guess some of the Francois ships still managed to limp out of the port. And because they were so busy rescuing me, my subordinates were in no position to pursue. I guess Visha didn't want to upset me by telling me that. Well, it couldn't be helped. I was certain the explosion should have damaged or sunk at least some of the Francois army. Hopefully, that would be enough for my bosses to go easy on me. Oh, Visha was saying something.

"Major, that explosion, what _was_ that?"

I considered my answer. There was an opportunity here. "Visha, you're aware that the Elenium Type 95 was a unique and extremely powerful computational jewel, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, what the military doesn't like to talk about, is that no one really knows how it works."

"What?!"

"It's true. During testing the damn thing was so unstable it killed multiple test pilots. Then one day, for no apparent reason, it starts to work. No one has any good explanation why, but the military saw a powerful weapon and they told me to use it even if they can't explain it." It was true as well. The rational Empire military would never accept 'divine intervention' as an answer, so the Type 95 got filed under 'lucky accident'.

"You're joking. They made you use it without knowing how it works?"

"I guess they were desperate. But now you know why I always preferred to use the Type 97. Still, there's no denying how powerful it was, so when I started that attack run I decided to pour every bit of magic I could into it. But, well, I guess it was too much because the whole thing destabilized. You saw the results."

This explanation was bullshit. Logically speaking, the Type 95 could output more power than I could put in it, so there's no way I could overload it. But it was the kind of bullshit no one could disprove, because no one still had a good explanation for how the thing worked. As for why I was coming up with this story in the first place, well, my career was already on thin ice. If it got out I deliberately sabotaged an irreplaceable piece of military equipment? Much better if everyone believed that the inexplicable Type 95 had just as inexplicably decided to give up the ghost. If I hyped up how much power I'd been pouring into it, it would only make it more believable to people who were familiar with the dangers of overloading computation orbs.

Now that it seemed I was going to live, I needed to take steps to insulate myself from every possible consequence of my actions. Being X's threats were not to be taken lightly.

Judging by Visha's expression, she believed me completely. Excellent. She would undoubtedly spread it around, so by the time any official inquiry started, the dangers of the Type 95 would be set in stone.

It was very late in the afternoon when our battalion returned to base. While I was not exactly expecting a hero's welcome, I was somewhat concerned to see a squad of Military Police, accompanied by a company of aerial mages. 205th Battalion, if I was not mistaken, my old battalion before I went off to War College. I think I recognized the company commander, he used to be one of my fellow lieutenants.

Concerned as I was, it was obvious the MP Officer was downright nervous. Not surprising, even with the 203rd's recent casualties, we outnumbered the aerial mages supporting him 3 to 1. Still, credit to him, he barely hesitated before declaring, "Major Degurechaff, there is suspicion that you are guilty of insubordination, disobeying orders, and possibly other charges. I am under instructions to detain you and the lead officers of the 203rd Mage Battalion until the investigation is complete. I apologize for the inconvenience, but ask that you cooperate with this investigation."

Everyone grew tense. I could almost taste the magic in the air as computation jewels started powering up on both sides. I quickly stepped forward, both hands raised. "But certainly, Captain. However there is one problem - Imperial military law is very clear that the actions of a soldier are the responsibility of the senior officer on the field. I am the senior officer of the 203rd. Any actions my junior officers might have taken would have been under my orders. At least I believe so. Grantz!"

"Yes ma'am?" Grantz snapped immediately to attention.

"You were in charge of mustering the main body of the 203rd and moving to support the advance squad. During this, did you take any actions that fell outside the remit of my instructions?"

"No ma'am! I followed your orders to the letter!"

I smiled to myself. It seemed Grantz had come a long way since Arenne - he now understood the correct way of assigning responsibility for actions while in the army. Turning back to the MP Captain I said, "There you have it Captain. All my officers were following orders from me. Imperial law clearly absolves them of any responsibility. Arrest me if you must, but I insist that you leave them out of this."

The Captain chewed over this for a moment, but the decision was an easy one. Arrest the primary accused without fuss, or risk angering the most dangerous aerial mages in the Empire. "Very well," he agreed, "But I insist that your company and platoon commanders not leave the base until the investigation is concluded."

"But of course."

"Ma'am!" Visha suddenly broke in. "You can't just let them take you like this! You're a hero! You stopped an entire Francois army from escaping!"

Judging by the surprise on the MP Captain's face, it was clear the events at Brest had yet to reach here. He was probably acting on complaints from Western Command. This only made me more confident that I would be able to skate out of the charges, but only if no one did anything foolish.

"Lieutenant!" I barked, causing Visha to freeze at attention. "The good Captain is simply following orders. We must not make things difficult for him." Turning to the Captain, I gave him my friendliest smile. "After all, you and I both know everything I did was within the bounds of the law. As long as this investigation is conducted in a fair and professional manner, the truth will come out, and it will set me free. Isn't that right, Captain?"

"As you say Major. Since you're cooperating, I hope I won't have to cuff you?"

"Of course not. Lead on, Captain. Weiss, you are in acting command. Get in touch with General Zettour and let him know everything."

As I was escorted away from my battalion, I tried to soothe the nervousness in my heart. That bit of drama back there should have scored me some points with my subordinates while giving up nothing of substance - under Imperial law, they really were free of responsibility for following my orders. In the same vein, cooperating with the Military Police was the best choice because, legally speaking, I was in the clear. The armistice had yet to go into effect, and my battalion was an independent command so I could act as I chose - cooperating with theater command was a courtesy, not a necessity. The real source of trouble would be those senior officers that my actions had embarrassed. There were many who would have egg on their faces once news about the attempted Francois evacuation broke. They might very well be tempted to put me through some kind of kangaroo court so as to remove the source of embarrassment from sight.

That's where the 203rd came in. By keeping all my officers free and clear, I had several ranking and dangerous men and women who would be motivated to make sure I got a fair trial, and who could act as unimpeachable witnesses to my actions. Even better, once they got in touch with HQ, its possible General Zettour himself might move to make sure things were conducted in an above-board manner. And once the truth came out, I'm sure my brashness would be forgiven. Yes, I was confident that soon enough, I would once more be a law-abiding soldier in good standing.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

**Chapter 2**

In the end, the Military Police didn't take me far. There was a fairly sturdy prison not too far from Western Command HQ. It was mostly used to house important POWs, but a small section was devoted to the cause of incarcerating Imperial lawbreakers.

While my accommodations were no VIP suite, it could have been much worse. The cell was a proper room with attached bath and toilet (but no windows), the blankets were adequate, and the bed actually had a mattress. True, the mattress was thin and hard and less comfortable than sleeping in my tent, but I supposed in this case it was the thought that counted. A small desk and chair rounded things off.

Since I had been halfway expecting to be thrown into a cold bare cell with a bucket to do my business in, I took it as a good sign. Clearly, I was merely being held until the lawyers could check that I hadn't actually broken any laws. Confident in my own interpretation, I gave it a week, maybe a month at the latest, before I was out and restored to my command.

Sure enough, the first time I was interviewed about my actions, the very next day, it was a fairly professional experience. My interrogator was only interested in the facts, and I was all for giving him the facts. The only part I lied about was the cause of the Type 95's detonation, and since no one could possibly prove me false, I felt no nervousness at all. It still took a while though - as I said, the interrogator was a professional, and he spent hours coming at the event from every possible angle. He didn't seem at all put out when he failed to trip me up, so I simply took it as him being thorough.

The next few days were boring. Since I had been allowed some personal effects, I spent the days lazing about in the bed in my pajamas and reading. I also received visits from Weiss, Neumann, Koenig, and Visha. Apparently the rest of the 203rd were also being interrogated. Since none of them knew anything incriminating, I encouraged them to go along with it. After all, they were my direct subordinates, it would reflect badly on me if they got a reputation for not cooperating with the authorities. It was also flattering how worried some of them, particularly Visha, seemed to be about me. I assured them all that my actions were legal, and I would undoubtedly be released once the investigation concluded. Hopefully none of them would do anything foolish.

Four days into my incarceration, Colonel Lergen showed up to question me. I took this as an excellent sign - my strongest allies in the military were in Berun HQ, and if they were starting to move then it meant good things for me. In spite of the initial rocky start to our relationship, Lergen in particular was someone I considered an exemplar of Imperial efficiency. With him involved, things will undoubtedly be resolved swiftly.

Interestingly enough, Lergen only touched lightly on the facts of the case. He seemed far more interested in my state of mind, both before and after the event. It took me a moment to figure out why - I'd just gone against a superior officer and succeeded in a huge gamble, only to be imprisoned for my efforts. Plus, according to the story I was putting out, I'd nearly been killed when the Type 95 - a device the Empire had forced on me - malfunctioned. Given all this, it wouldn't be surprising if I bore resentment towards the Empire. Having divined the source of his concern, I set about reassuring him of my loyalty to the Empire, and my readiness to do it all over again if it meant bringing glory to the Fatherland. I have to say, Lergen had an excellent poker face, but since he departed without expressing any skepticism, I felt I had succeeded in assuaging his doubts.

* * *

**Berun Military HQ, July 21, 1925**

"Rudersdorf, care to explain why Major Degurechaff is still behind bars? The facts of her case are clear, a tribunal to clear her is merely a formality." Zettour was normally not one to vent his spleen at his longtime friend and ally, but since as Degurechaff's direct superior he'd been forced to maintain some distance from the case, Rudersdorf was the one he'd been relying on to make sure the complaints by Western Command were consigned to the trash where they belonged.

Rudersdorf gave a deep sigh, then inviting Zettour to sit, he poured both of them a glass of brandy. After they had both taken a sip and Zettour had calmed himself, Rudersdorf spoke. "I agree with you, old friend. Unfortunately, the Emperor does not."

"What does the Emperor have to do with this?"

"Everything," came the growled reply. "You are of course aware of the devastation at Brest."

"But of course. Three quarters casualties for the army those traitorous frogs tried to slip by us, and most of the rest captured. A glorious victory. Or do you mean the damage to the city itself? I admit, the destruction of the waterfront is distressing, but such things happen in war."

"There were over 5,000 civilian casualties, Zettour. And if the blast had happened closer to the city it would have been ten times worse."

"But it didn't. And even if it had, it was not a deliberate act but a malfunctioning piece of equipment. Finally, Brest was a city occupied by enemy forces that refused to abide the armistice agreement and instead fired on our soldiers. Rudersdorf, stop all this nonsense and tell me what this is really about."

"Fine. What it is about, is that a young hotheaded aerial mage ignored all orders, and in a fit of unauthorized aggression, destroyed a large chunk of a major city. This time, it was an enemy city. The next time, it might be Berun."

"What?! That's absurd! Lergen's report was clear that the Major's loyalty is unshakable!"

"The same report that points out how she is completely unrepentant about her actions, and is only sad that she can't do it again due to the loss of the Type 95?"

"Exactly! Without the Type 95, she couldn't do it again if she wanted to! And last I checked, we were no closer to creating another one than we were to flying to the moon!"

"I know, Zettour, and I agree with you. But the Emperor does not. He is extremely concerned, and when the Emperor is concerned, the ministers panic. Fear is not logical, and I am afraid that ever since the news reached him the Emperor has been extremely stubborn and irrational on the subject of Major Degurechaff. Of course, the international situation makes things even worse. The Emperor's cousin has been bending his ear about how the Allied Kingdom might be forced to declare all-out war if the Empire does not make a few reassurances. The Rus and the Americans have been making similar noises, and even our Ildoan allies have been looking shaky. The truth is, the other countries are terrified the Empire might repeat the Brest bombing - and the Emperor is terrified that the only soldier known to be capable of it has also demonstrated her willingness to ignore inconvenient orders."

"So what does he intend to do about the Major."

"The plan, if you can call it that, is to get her to confess to lesser charges. Something that can be used to justify her dismissal from the armed forces. It will also act as a sop to the rest of the world while we work to convince them that we haven't actually developed an explosive capable of devastating entire cities."

Zettour scoffed. "As if Degurechaff will do any such thing. She is nothing if not stubborn. And which fool in the army is going to be brave enough to try that on a holder of the Silver Wings?"

Rudersdorf took a deep breath. Now came the _really_ bad part. "No one. Which is why the Empire has already ordered the case handed over to the Secret Police. I don't know the full details, but I am told they are confident their man can extract the necessary confession."

The temperature seemed to drop into the negatives. "Torture," came the enraged whisper from Zettour. "They are proposing to torture an _11-year-old girl_ to extract a false confession."

"I was given the impression that her age and gender will only make things easier. And I believe the phrase in favor these days is 'enhanced interrogation'." Looking at the frozen visage of his friend Rudersdorf gave a sigh, and continued speaking in a more encouraging tone, "You mustn't lose hope, my friend. This situation cannot and will not be kept quiet. I will ensure it. Once word gets out how one of our greatest heroes is being treated, there will be a storm of outrage. We will rescue her from this, just have faith."

"Oh, it's not her I'm worrying about." came the snarled reply. "What I'm wondering is, exactly at what point during this whole experience will the Major decide her loyalty to the Empire is misplaced? If that point ever comes, may God have mercy on us all, for Tanya von Degurechaff won't."

* * *

**Military Prison, Rhineland, July 23, 1925**

The click of the opening lock might as well have been a gunshot in the still of the night. Long frontline experience meant I was awake in an instant. So, I was not quite caught by surprise when the door to my cell slammed open and two large men barged in.

By the time they reached me, I was on my feet. It was hard to see details in the dim light coming in from the door, but neither men wore a military uniform, and that was all I needed to know. A quick tug left my blanket wrapped around the head and body of the nearest assailant. Then a quick trip and shove sent him colliding with his companion.

The second man pushed the wrapped assailant to the ground and stepped over him towards me, swinging a nightstick. Unfortunately for him, he was clearly not used to fighting someone of my stature, and I had no difficulty ducking low and getting deep into his guard.

Now, I should mention that it is a common belief that mages can't cast spells without a computational jewel. This is not true, particularly for B-rank mages and above. It's just that using magic without a computational jewel is so difficult that almost no mage bothers to learn. But then, most mages weren't an eight-year-old girl suffering through the rigors of basic training. The minute they covered body reinforcement spells in magic theory, I'd worked furiously to figure out how to apply it to myself manually. The fact that I was near top of my class even before we were issued our computation jewels was a testament to my success.

I hadn't had cause to rely on my discovery for three years now, but it was liking riding a bicycle. It was all coming back to me. That meant, when I rose up and put my full strength into a driving uppercut straight into my attacker's family jewels, I hit way harder than a small 11-year-old had any business doing.

I could have sworn I heard a small sob as my target folded up and emptied his stomach. Dancing away from the splatter, I plucked the nightstick from his unresisting hand. By this time, the other man had managed to free his head from my blanket and get to his knees, which put him at the perfect height to receive a full-body swing to the jaw. It might have dislocated his jaw, and it definitely knocked him out. Turning around to his retching compatriot, I put that fellow out of his misery with a couple of judicious strikes placed behind his ear.

As I paused to take stock, I realized we had a witness. Standing in the doorway, looking shocked, was the Lieutenant in charge of the prison's night watch. Even though he hadn't drawn his sidearm, I still dropped the nightstick and raised my hands to show I meant him no harm. "Lieutenant!" I cried, genuine relief in my voice. "These thugs broke into my room and attacked me! Can you please take them into custody and find out how they sneaked in?"

"They didn't. Sneak in, I mean..." He brought himself short at my narrowing eyes and spoke hurriedly, "They're Secret Police. Some Colonel came by and is demanding to speak with you, and sent them to escort you to him."

Secret Police? I'd never dealt with them before, although I had seen them around occasionally. _Did I just beat up a pair of police officers?_ Looking closely, I realized that while they were not wearing military uniforms, they were in uniforms of a sort.

"If they were police why didn't they announce themselves as such? You don't just barge into a lady's room unannounced!" I hissed furiously. Part of my anger came from fear - no matter how justified, law enforcement always looks dimly on harm to their own. Now, due to these two's incompetence, I found myself in an awkward position.

Luckily, it seemed the Lieutenant agreed with me. "You're telling me! When they asked me to open the door, I didn't expect them to just charge in like that! I assure you ma'am, I'd never have allowed something like this to happen if I'd known."

Was that a hint of inter-service rivalry I detect? "Of course Lieutenant. You've been nothing but professional during my stay under your care. These two clowns could certainly stand to learn a thing or two from you. Now, I believe you mentioned something about a Colonel waiting for me? Why don't you take me to him, then send someone along to clean up this mess."

"Yes, ma'am. Um... what should I tell him happened here...?"

Ah, he was clearly worried he might get the blame. Well, it wouldn't hurt to earn the gratitude of one of my jailers. Prison movies in my past life all emphasized the importance of having friends among the guards. "Don't worry Lieutenant, I'll be sure to let the Colonel know this had nothing to do with you. You just get me to him."

"Very well ma'am. Would you like to change?"

While I didn't want to appear in front of a Secret Police Colonel in my pajamas, I also didn't want to spend a single moment longer with two semi-conscious men and the stink of vomit. I compromised by tying up my hair in a quick ponytail, throwing on the top of my dress uniform, and affixing to it my Silver Wings Assault Badge.

As I was led to this late-night meeting, I was furiously planning my strategy. Even in ordinary circumstances, the sudden presence of the Secret Police would have been a surprise. Their remit was primarily the search for political dissidents. Perhaps someone had taken my refusal to accept orders - even when it was within my rights to do so - as a sign of political unreliability? And now I'd complicated matters by manhandling two of their members. Unfortunately, I couldn't simply apologize - an apology might be seen as an acceptance of wrongdoing. No, I had to take the offensive, make sure the Colonel knew it was entirely a tragic misunderstanding brought on by his men following incorrect procedure. Hopefully, this Colonel would prove to be the reasonable sort.

When the Lieutenant knocked on the door of the meeting room, a gruff voice ordered us to come in. Stepping ahead, I went in first. The man in the room, sitting behind the desk, was dressed similarly to the other two, only with more gold braid on his shoulders. He was a sturdy looking fellow of average height with thinning black hair combed back, scarred knuckles, an aristocratic nose that had been broken at some point, and dark close set eyes. I fancied he could be quite intimidating if he tried, but the first thing to register in his eyes was surprise when he saw I was alone.

"Where is the escort?" he barked at the Lieutenant, who was still by the door.

"On their way to the infirmary." I spoke firmly.

His stern gaze settled on me as his visage darkened. I quickly moved to explain further. "I am afraid that instead of announcing themselves as members of the Secret Police, they simply chose to enter my room without warning." I then gave him my wide-eyed little-girl look as I continued, "I was so frightened when two strange men just showed up in my room - I had no idea what they intended, so I reacted badly. I do hope you won't hold it against me?"

His jaw clenched and for a moment he seemed speechless, then he said softly, "How... terrible. The infirmary you say?"

He still didn't look happy, but I guess no boss likes to be made to look like a fool by his subordinates. At least he seems to have accepted my explanation, so I let my tone grow more friendly, "Don't worry, I didn't hurt them too badly, they should make a full recovery. And I assure you, if I had known they were Secret Police, I certainly would not have treated them so poorly. I am always ready to cooperate with representatives of His Majesty's government."

There was a long enough pause that the silence grew a bit awkward. Looking around, I spotted a small stool in the middle of the room. That was quite thoughtful of him - most chairs were just a bit too tall for me to be comfortable in. After a glance at him to see if he would object, I sat down facing him and gave him my most professional smile. "Now Colonel, initial unpleasantness aside, I'm sure it's something quite urgent that led you to call on me at this time of night. How may I help you? I am, of course, at your service."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

**Chapter 3**

**August 27, 1925, Rhineland military prison**

Weiss stepped into the cell, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Then he winced. It was painful, seeing such a powerful warrior look so broken. The girl sitting on the prison cot didn't even look up as he entered. Her hair fell forward to hide her eyes, and her shoulders were slumped in defeat. Gone was the insouciant confidence that had animated her every action. Tucking his cap under his arm, Weiss coughed discreetly to get her attention. Slowly, as if every move was painful, she raised her head until he could see the gleam of her eyes beneath her messy hair.

He sighed. "Lieutenant Serebryakov, you can't keep doing this to yourself. This is the third time this month they've brought you in for disorderly conduct. And given what you were saying in public, they could have charged you with sedition and treason. I know you miss the Major, we all do, but throwing yourself away like this is not the answer!"

"Then what is the answer, Captain?"

Getting down on one knee, Weiss looked her in the eyes as he dropped his voice to a soft whisper. "You know the answer, Visha. Even now the rumors are spreading, support is being gathered. All the nearby companies are beginning to grumble, and even civvie newspapers are asking questions. Even the Military Police isn't happy about this. The support for getting the Major out of the hands of the Secret Police is growing every day. We just have to keep things disciplined. Getting into bar brawls, making seditious speeches, this is the sort of thing even our sympathizers among the top brass will be forced to respond to. It can't be much longer Visha, you just have to stay the course."

"Weiss, I... I can't. I know it's the smart thing to do, but someone has to speak out! Someone has to make sure the top brass know they can't keep us quiet! That taking away our orbs doesn't take away who we are!"

Weiss had to keep himself from sighing again. Honestly, sometimes he felt it was a good thing they no longer had their Type 97s.

When the order had come in to turn in their computational jewels pending the investigation, not just for the eight who were with the Major at Brest but for the entire battalion, they had gone along with it because of the Major's standing orders to cooperate. It was only later they had heard that their commander had been delivered into the clutches of the Secret Police. All attempts to communicate with her, or even confirm her status, were denied. Thankfully, the Military Police had been unhappy enough with what they saw as unwarranted interference that their members freely passed on what little they knew. And the little they did know had been bad enough. If they still had the ability, the members of the 203rd would have undoubtedly done something regrettably violent. Weiss was honest enough to admit he himself had been tempted in the moment, but it would have been a disaster in the long run.

Visha knew this as well. She had been deeply involved in setting up the whisper campaign to free the Major. It was just that she wasn't satisfied with whispering.

She must have read something into his sigh, for she spoke. "Leave it be, Weiss. As long as they focus on me, they'll ignore you and the others. The longer you can work uninterrupted, the better."

"That's a rationalization and you know it."

"Still true, though."

"And what would the Major say if she saw you like this?"

A moment of silence, then a soft giggle. "She wouldn't say anything. She'd simply put me through a training exercise that would make me wish I was dead. Probably involving artillery."

The mirth lightened the mood, and Visha spoke up softly. "Who do we have?"

"The 205th are mostly with us. Also a few companies of armor and infantry - mainly from those involved in Operation Lockpick. Trust me, they're not moving the Major from this place without us knowing."

"Do we have enough to storm the prison?"

"Storm it, yes. Escape afterwards, no. Don't be stupid, Visha."

"I'm not. I just want to make sure we can do something if they try to...to... _execute_ her."

"Hopefully it won't come to that. Now," Weiss held out a hand to her, "Come on. They're letting you out early. Seems they've grown tired of seeing your face."

Visha huffed, but she did take his hand and let him pull her to her feet. As they walked out, Visha said in a small voice, "How badly do you think they're hurting her?"

Weiss grimaced. "I won't lie, it sounds bad. But that makes it even more important we keep it together. _When_ we get her out, she'll need all our help to recover from whatever those bastards are doing to her."

* * *

**September 2, 1925**

When considering the question of torture in the abstract, it comes down to a cost-benefit analysis. Is the immediate benefit, an end to suffering, worth the future cost of surrendering your will to your interrogator? From this it follows that it is the job of the interrogator to make the benefits seem well worth the cost in the mind of the victim. Starting from this point, I could only conclude that my interrogators were either utterly incompetent, or they were playing a very long game where they intended to break my will through boredom and frustration.

Well, to be fair, their methods might have been effective when used on an ordinary grunt or an untrained civilian. However, even after what I suspect is around a month, they had yet to move past what for the 203rd would qualify as hard training. Well, alright, so I had subjected my subordinates to the training rather than going through it myself. But if even someone as soft and kind as Visha could go through something like this with a smile, then my own pride would not let me do any less.

That, and I was cheating shamelessly with magic.

The most frustrating part, though, was that there was no need for this. Sure, when the Colonel (who had yet to introduce himself) had first put that fake confession in front of me that first night, I had rejected it instinctively. Confess to crimes that could potentially see me incarcerated for decades? No thank you! It was only later, as I was cooling my heels in my new cell (windowless, check; bare, check; tiny, check; bucket in the corner, check) that I realized I had no real objection to leaving the army. In the end, it was just another job, and even in Japan people had changed jobs when necessary. No, the real issue was the dishonorable discharge that would have accompanied my confession, even if the Colonel had kept his promise that my cooperation would keep me out of prison. Even in a modern, peaceful world a dishonorable discharge was looked down upon. In a nation as militaristic as the Empire, having that on my record would have rendered me effectively unemployable.

So, the next time I had seen my interrogator (after three days of random wake-up calls, strip searches, and short rations) I'd dropped a few broad hints that I wouldn't mind leaving the army, as long as I was could do so with my honor intact. It was the least I could do to please my Emperor.

Yes, that's right, the Emperor. Apparently, the big man himself was most displeased with my actions, and wanted the mass-murdering monster that was me removed from his army forthwith. What a joke! As if the Emperor would deign to notice a lowly Major like myself. No, it was obvious these goons had been sent by some high ranking minister or court official, most likely doing an end run around my allies in Military HQ. I'd called myself all sorts of names when I'd figured it out. It was a classic case of tunnel-vision. I'd been so focused on the threat of all the officers I might have embarrassed, I completely forgot to account for all the diplomats and officials who had been involved in hammering out the armistice, and who now had egg on their faces.

Well, since they wanted to pretend they'd been sent by the Emperor, I'd played along. For the sake of unruffling high-ranked feathers, I was willing to accept a discreet dismissal from the army as long as my resume was not too badly damaged, and I'd indicated the same to my interrogators.

Either I had been too subtle, or their superior was a pig-headed moron who refused to accept anything less than total capitulation. I strongly suspected the hand of Being X behind this absurd behavior, which if true, was quite a come-down for that manipulative bastard. After all, his previous cat's-paw Schugel at least had an intellect to accompany his insanity.

Oh, what's this? They were pulling my head out of the bucket of water. That seemed a bit early - ah, right, I'd been so lost in thought I'd forgotten to keep kicking my legs in seeming desperation. Cue the pretend coughing and choking. What a farce. If they had started with this right off the bat I might have been in trouble. As it is, the minute I realized what I was facing, I'd identified waterboarding as one of the techniques in the enhanced interrogation playbook that I'd used on the 203rd, and I'd started work on an orbless oxygenation spell.

That spell had taken me some days to develop, and only worked for a few seconds at a time. More than enough, considering this was the first day they were resorting to what I would consider a basic tool of enhanced interrogation. They had managed to make me lose track of the date, but I could tell it had been about a month, and they were only now getting around to the water torture. Before this, they'd wasted everyone's time playing with my sleep cycle, strip searches, sexual innuendo, starvation, and mild beatings. At this rate, they might just do something original in about six months.

It seemed my bout of 'passing out' had convinced them I'd had enough for the day. A desultory offer to confess that I desultorily declined. At least the Colonel looked as frustrated as I felt. Small pleasures. I was then lifted by my armpits and dragged off to my cell. I could have walked, but dragging me around seemed to make these thugs feel useful, so I indulged them.

Once I was located in my cell, I sat down in a corner and dropped into my meditative trance. The trance was a side-effect to my experiments with the mental doping spell.

Mental doping could be used to produce a wide variety of useful effects, most notably reflex enhancement, pain suppression, and an incredible combat high - all effects I had leaned on heavily during that very first action that won me the Silver Wings. Subsequent experience with the Type 95 had soured me on the whole idea of messing with my mind with magic. Reflex enhancement was a necessity, but I'd avoided the others. Now though, very careful experimentation with this family of spells had given surprising benefits, including a magical equivalent to a strong dose of caffeine, and a painkiller effect.

The trance was one such benefit - an effect that, when combined with basic meditation, created a restful yet alert state of mind. Not as good as sleep, but it also left me lucid and capable of focusing past the gnawing hunger and fatigue and on my spell equations. Just because these idiots were amateurs didn't mean they wouldn't try something excessive in a fit of pique. The human body was fragile, and I only had a limited set of tools to protect myself. At least the challenge kept me from being too bored. Honestly though, even Visha would make a better interrogator than these clowns.

At some point between juggling spell equations and considering Visha's effectiveness were she to try to interrogate me, I drifted off to sleep. My dreams were strange that day. I didn't remember much, except fragments of something involving Visha and a lot of leather...

* * *

**September 11, 1925, Berun**

"So, the Emperor has finally called off the Secret Police." remarked Zettour.

"Yes," agreed Rudersdorf. "Incipient military revolt can do that. Of course, now we have to figure out some way to restore the morale and discipline that has been shredded by this debacle. It's going to be annoying, even if we were responsible for at least part of it."

"And when will the Major be released?"

"That... might not happen. I'm afraid the Emperor still insists on using her as scapegoat to placate the international outrage over Brest. There's talks of an international tribunal on war crimes."

"An international tribunal... and who will sit on this tribunal?"

"The Francois and the Albish are being named, as the ones who took actual damage during the incident. Among others."

"Are you saying that the Emperor will permit our enemies to sit in judgement of one of _our_ officers?" Zettour's tone had grown increasingly dangerous as he spoke.

Rudersdorf raised a placating hand. "My reaction exactly. Unfortunately, the Emperor has put forth a somewhat logical argument for this action, and it is one that is gaining traction."

"What?!"

"Zettour, you must be aware of how fraught the international situation is. We were tested to the utmost taking on Legadonia and Francois at the same time. Now, we are seeing ultimatums from Albion, America, and the Rus, and the Ildoans are rapidly distancing themselves from us. All of them are worried. All of them are demanding tangible proof that the Empire cannot and will not repeat the disaster at Brest. And a first step would be neutralizing the only person in the world capable of operating something like the Type 95."

Zettour scowled furiously. "I can see where this is going. The Emperor will cloak himself in the camouflage of necessity. To sacrifice a single soldier to protect the lives of potential millions, this is the sort of distasteful choice any leader must make. That the soldier is one that terrifies him, is but one of those coincidences."

"Now now, it's not all doom and gloom. I've been talking to the Foreign Office, and they're going to try and make this tribunal be as wide as possible. While the Francois undoubtedly want Degurechaff's head, the Allied Kingdom hasn't suffered too much at her hands, and most other countries only know her from reports. The other judges, all they will see is a young girl on the stand, not even in her teens. While she might be forced out of service, I doubt they will be too harsh on her."

"How optimistic." Zettour gave a bitter smile. "You have met the Major, haven't you? She has this way of making you forget her age. Normally a good thing, but in this case..."

"Ah. Well. Here's hoping her defense counsel can coach her to take the correct approach..."

* * *

**September 30, 1925, Rhineland Military Prison**

Out of all the things I'd expected in my new life, passing my twelfth birthday in prison hadn't been one of them. Still, at least their farcical attempts at interrogating me had stopped. For the last few weeks, I'd been left almost entirely to myself. I'd been restored to a more comfortable cell, and once more allowed some reading material. I was still forbidden contact with the outside world though. At least the Military Police were kind enough to let me know the date.

I was still working hard on my spell repertoire though. It was always possible they had simply pulled back the previous set of thugs in order to replace them with someone more competent. Plus, it was fun to see how far I could push myself without a computational jewel. One interesting thing I had noticed - even though the prison was supposed to have a platoon of mages on standby, none of them seemed to have picked up on my near constant use of magic. Of course, all the spells I'd tried so far were both weaker than combat standard and internal in nature, but even these should have been detectable at close range. Just to test things, I'd performed my strongest reinforcement while one of the mages had been right outside my door, and he hadn't turned a hair. Was using these spells without an orb making them harder to detect? Something to ponder on.

I was just considering one more round of physical exercises (there's only so much time I could take working on spellcraft) when I heard feet approaching my cell.

"Back up against the wall," came the order.

Once I'd complied, my cell door opened, and in walked... Visha? In_ handcuffs_? I could only gape at my erstwhile adjutant as she stared at me with disturbing intensity while the guard unlocked her cuffs and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Before I could get the first word out, she had closed well into my personal space, and had brought her face inches from my own as her eyes took in every bit of me. "You... you are all right."

It didn't seem a question but, "Yes...?"

All right, now her eyes were filling with tears, to my increasing confusion. "You're _all right_. I - we - were so worried. We'd been hearing all sorts of awful rumors that the Secret Police were torturing you to try and force you to confess to all sorts of horrible things like treason and murder and... and..."

I could honestly say I was touched, even if she was making a bit of a scene. I took her hands in my own and started rubbing them. "Visha, it's OK, I'm fine. Those clowns couldn't force a kid to confess to stealing candy."

"S-So, they didn't hurt you?"

"More like they spent a month trying and failing to hurt me," I muttered, then immediately realized my mistake as the waterworks looked to start up again. "Lieutenant Serebryakov, cease this foolish behavior. Do I look like someone who's been recently tortured?"

"That's not going to work, Major. You're the one who taught us all the ways to hurt someone without seriously injuring them."

"Yes, well, just take my word for it, these jokers were more likely to hurt themselves than me. Honestly, if this is the state of the civilian arm of our secret service, no wonder we were caught off guard by two declarations of war in two years."

Her laugh still sounded teary, but at least she was laughing. "As expected of the Major," she mumbled, wiping her eyes. Then she reached underneath her shirt, and pulled out..._ a bar of chocolate_. "I know its a few days late, Major, but happy birthday."

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Never mind. Give me that!" In less than a second, I'd snatched the bar from her hand, torn off the wrapping, and taken a big bite. Sweet, sweet, sugary goodness, how I had missed thee.

Once I'd managed to calm down, I turned my attention to a question that had been nagging me. "Visha, why were you in cuffs when you came in?"

That was definitely Visha's I-am-embarrassed blush. "Well, they're still not allowing you to have visitors. So, I made a deal with the watch officer, and I got him to agree the next time I got arrested he'd stick me in the same cell as you. Then I started a bar fight."

I stared. The words 'Visha' and 'bar fight' in the same sentence was creating some kind of logic error in my brain. Then something she said caught at me. "_Next_ time? You mean there were other times?"

"Wellll... I was really upset about your arrest, and I kept complaining about it, and they'd tell me to shut up, and I didn't want to shut up, so I may have ended up getting arrested for disorderly conduct, once or twice. Okay, four times."

"And where was Weiss in all this?"

"Oh Captain Weiss was a lot of help. He really did a lot of work helping me raise awareness of what was being down to you and how wrong it was. And he helped calm me down a bit, or I think I'd have been a lot worse."

So apparently, while my back was turned, Visha had become both a civil rights activist and a juvenile delinquent. Was this what they call the teenage rebellion phase? I certainly don't remember acting like this when I was a teenager!

I was still trying to wrap my head around the image of Visha as a member of one of those shonen high school gangs when I realized she was talking, and in a much more serious tone. "One of the reasons I had to meet with you is... I take it you haven't heard the news?"

"No, I've been cut off. Why, has the war started up again?"

"No, there's been no fighting in months. But the destruction at Brest has been creating a lot of international panic. Everyone is scared the next war will be one where entire cities will get wiped off the map. So there's been an international tribunal formed to investigate the incident and everyone involved... and part of it is going to involve putting you on trial for war crimes."

I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. Anyone who'd paid attention to the Nuremberg trials in my last life will know the whole thing had been driven more by politics than any sense of justice, and this sounded very much the same. If the participants thought it would look better if I was found guilty, then I _would_ be found guilty. It looked like Being X had upped his game after that farce of an interrogation failed to crack me.

"Visha, who all are going to be the judges?"

"According to yesterdays' paper, there will be one judge from each of six countries - Francois, the Allied Kingdom, the Unified States, Waldstatten, the Empire, and Ildoa. With the Rus and several others as observers."

I considered, then decided that a bit of profanity was called for. "Well, I'm fucked."

"What? No! The Albion and Francois will be balanced by us and Ildoa, and the Americans and Walds should be at least somewhat neutral."

"Visha, don't be naive. Do you really think I could have spent a month enjoying the hospitality of the Secret Police if someone high up in our government didn't want me gone? I bet you anything our judge will be in their pockets too. Ildoa will follow the Empire unless they suddenly grow a spine, and America has always been very friendly with the Allied Kingdom. The only one of the lot I can see giving me a fair shake is Waldstatten."

There was a long silence as we both brooded on my impending doom. Then Visha broke out, "So, what do we do about this?"

"What can we do, but see this farce through to the end and hope something gives?"

"Major, that doesn't sound like you at all. You never enter a battle while trusting to luck. You make your own luck!"

I was honestly taken aback at this sudden fire from my usually placid subordinate. "And what do you suggest."

"In a just world, you would be set free. So, if the world refuses to be just, we will have to make our own justice."

I stared. Visha really did not seem to be joking. She had just proposed that she help me break out of prison and go on the lam. Seriously Visha, when did you become such a delinquent?

I, briefly, entertained the thought that this was all some sort of ploy to get me to do something foolish. But no, there's no way Visha would be anyone's choice for such a complicated subterfuge. Besides, all I would have to do is wait until I was officially notified about the trial to see if she wasn't just setting me up with a false tale.

"All right, if we're going to do this, then for starters, keep your voice down. Second,..."

_A\N: Several brief time skips, but then the meat of this story happens after Tanya gets free, and I didn't want to spend too much longer on the set-up._


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

_A\N: As always, constructive criticism welcome._

**Chapter 4**

**October 10, 1925, Essen, The Empire**

Visha was surprised at how easy it was for her to take a leave of absence. Or perhaps not so surprising. With the 203rd still grounded, she couldn't exactly perform her duties, and she supposed the higher-ups thought it better to allow her leave than to keep her inside the base where she could continue raising hell about the Major's continuing imprisonment.

If they knew what she was up to then they would definitely change their minds. Her visit to Essen was rooted in the long and fruitful discussion she'd had with the Major in their shared cell.

They had decided that no matter how difficult it might be for the Major to break out, the real trick would be disappearing afterwards. Her face had already been well known in the Empire, and once the tribunal kicked off it would be known everywhere else.

Make-up was not an answer. It was slow, needed constant maintenance, and neither of them were in a position to acquire the necessary skill or knew someone trustworthy who already had it. No, if the Major was to go incognito, the best way would be through a subtle use of illusions. Which meant a computational jewel. A civilian one, since military jewels were not only too well guarded, but too 'noisy'.

And wasn't that a revolutionary concept. Every competent aerial mage learned how to detect magic in their surroundings in order to spot illusions and for that extra bit of warning against enemy mages. But she had never realized the logical conclusion - make a spell small and efficient enough, and you could cast it right under an enemy's nose without being spotted. In this case, with Tanya planning to blend if and when she got out, trying to use a military jewel would simply raise the alarm the first time she set foot in range of a magic scanner or a trained mage.

In an ideal world, the Major would simply do what she had already been doing, and find a way to cast illusions without an orb. Unfortunately, even for someone of her skill and power, that was asking too much. Without an orb, even relatively simple spells like body reinforcement could only be kept up at a weak level for minutes at a time. While illusion spells cost little in the way of power, they were at the high end for complexity if you wanted them to be realistic. Far too complex to perform without a jewel. Which brought her here to Essen, heart of the Rhine industrial area, and perhaps the single largest concentrations of civilian mages in the Empire.

Of course, she wasn't going to steal them. Apart from the immorality of such an act, even civilian orbs were expensive enough that the theft of one would draw attention. No, as it happened, the Major had well over a years' worth of salary sitting in a bank doing nothing. Forging checks is surprisingly easy if you had access to all the account holder's correspondence. Visha consoled herself that it wasn't really stealing since Tanya was the one who had insisted on it. Now she could only hope the money had been put to good use.

Entering a certain beer hall, she spotted her quarry in a corner table. With a smile she took the seat next to him. "Teyanen, it's good to see you. You're looking well, I see."

The former Warrant Officer returned her smile. An average looking young man with a solid jaw, dirty blond hair and brown eyes, his face was thinner, but at least he no longer looked at death's door, unlike the last time she saw him. "It's good to see you too, Lieutenant. The doctors say I've almost fully recovered. I'd have come back to the unit, but then you lot just had to go and finish the war without me."

"Well, look on the bright side. After what happened to you the Major went on a rampage against the Supply Corps. Now no quartermaster dares give our battalion anything but the best." Visha threw him a mock salute. "Your sacrifice was not in vain, soldier!"

"Ah!" Teyanen gave a sage nod. "I was wondering what I did to earn all those medals the Major put me in for."

The two spent several minutes catching up and commiserating on lost comrades. Like Visha, Teyanen had been a conscript. Now that the war looked to be winding down, instead of trying to re-enlist he had gotten an internship as a magical technician at a firm working on making precision tools. Visha had known he lived in Essen which is why she had reached out to him, and his new employment only made things easier.

Once they had been served their beer and appetizers, Visha decided to get down to business. "You said you had them. Was the money I sent you adequate?"

"Oh yes. In the bag down there, four Junghan Mark II-G general-purpose Class-C computation orbs. I also put the leftover money in the bag - I was able to get a good deal on them."

"Excellent. Thank you very much for getting it done so quickly, Nika."

"Don't mention it, Visha. What did you say you wanted them for?"

Visha looked him in the eye, and kept her voice even. "With the war winding down, I'm thinking of leaving the army for a civilian magical job. I just thought it would be useful to get some experience working on a civilian orb."

"Ah," came the flat response. Teyanen studied her for a moment, then drawled, "And the reason you bought four is because, as an A-class mage, there is a very high chance you'll burn some out experimenting on them."

"Exactly."

"Glad to hear you're being cautious. I'm on the lower end of power for a combat mage, and even I came damn close to burning some out, and that was with a trainer watching over me all the time."

"Thanks for the warning, Nika. I'll be very careful."

"Please do." A corner of his lip quirked up in a faint smile. "If you make a mistake... might be a lot worse than a case of food poisoning."

* * *

**October 11, Berun Military HQ, The Empire**

Zettour scowled down at the map in front of him, but his ire couldn't change cold hard facts.

You would think that a nation that ruled a large portion of Europe after two years of victorious war would be in an unassailable position. The problem was translating those conquests into wealth and weapons. It would take years, if not decades to pacify the territories the Empire had conquered. And that's without foreign nations supplying insurrectionists, which they were. Until then, all that conquered territory was a constant drain on the Empire's strength, a liability rather than an asset. And the Empire's strength was rapidly draining.

His eyes moved to a report that had just come in. The Empire's strategic reserves of oil was just weeks away from falling into critical levels. The Americans had declared an embargo within days of the destruction of Brest. The Empire had already used an enormous amount of their reserve to carry out the conquest of the Francois Republic, the embargo could not have come at a worse time for them. While their new territory in Dacia produced some oil, their fields were underdeveloped and ultimately inadequate for the needs of an Empire. The other option was to import from the Middle East, but the Allied Kingdom had shut that option down years ago.

But even as the Empire's resources dwindled, their enemies' grew. In spite of years of effort, even on the best of days, the Empire's navy was barely a match for the Allied Kingdom's. And then the Royal Navy had taken advantage of the Empire's naval commitments in Legadonia to position their own fleets. No one was shooting yet, but the Empire's navy had gone from being outnumbered and outgunned to being outmaneuvered as well.

On the Eastern front, the Rus were carrying out a massive buildup. Within a matter of months, they would have the strength necessary to make a push into Dacia, and then the Empire's oil situation would go from bad to disastrous. True, the Empire had the rail network to match any Rus buildup. Except that would take away the troops from the Republic and leave them wide open for a landing from the Royal Army, which had been massively reinforced recently with colonial troops.

And that's to say nothing of the Americans. Apart from the trade embargo, they had already sent over two naval battle groups to reinforce the Royal Navy, and over eight divisions of 'volunteer' troops had landed on Albion soil, with full armor, artillery, aircraft, and aerial mage support.

That's not to say the Empire couldn't make a fight of it. But after two years of privations, the various rationing and austerity measures had finally been lifted on the Empire's citizens as the Empire celebrated the Francois downfall and declared an end to the war. Now having to go back to that, with no end in sight, would be an utter disaster for public morale. Not to mention the strategic disaster of having to fight a two-front war.

No, the fact was, no one wanted to see the fighting start up again. The AK and the US really didn't want to have to invade the continent and forcefully eject the Empire from the territory of their allies. And after two years of war, the Empire was badly in need of a rest to recoup their losses. And neither of the two sides wanted to see the Communists expand into Eastern Europe at their expense.

Already, the Kaiser and their ministers were persuading themselves (and the public) that occupying Stockholm and Parisee had taught their presumptuous neighbors a firm lesson, and now they should be gracious victors and give them back their countries - in return for suitable concessions, of course.

And as for one of the key figures in this victory, one Major Tanya von Degurechaff? Well, in spite of her celebrity as an aerial mage and hero, she was 'only' a Major. The only reason she was known at all outside the Army was the Empire's propaganda department - a department that was already turning its skill towards erasing Tanya von Degurechaff from the public consciousness. The recent debacle involving the Secret Police had only highlighted the dangerous levels of popularity the Major had attained, and now the government was moving to correct it.

This was, of course, preparation for offering her up as a sacrifice. The Empire, in an effort to allay fears, had already agreed to an international ban on research into quad-core computational orbs. Now, the only thing left was to neutralize the only person who had ever gotten a quad-core orb to work.

Worst of all, when Zettour saw the list of concessions that the other powers were willing to offer the Empire in exchange for giving up Degurechaff, he was forced to admit that the only reason he was finding the situation distasteful was because the Major was someone he knew and had personally raised to her position. Had she been some random aerial mage he had never heard of, his voice might well have joined others in suggesting that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

Of course, it wasn't going to be a sacrifice in the literal sense. No amount of concessions could have persuaded the military to give up one of their own to an unjust execution. The exact sentence would be determined by the judges, but it was already understood that the final result would be Degurechaff being sent into a quiet exile far away from any sort of military command.

Zettour's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. A quiet retirement far away from danger or responsibility might sound nice to an aging veteran. But to an ambitious young firebrand like Degurechaff? In spite (or perhaps because) of her youth, the girl lived and breathed conflict. Zettour had known other soldiers like that. They lived for the challenge, and ate pressure for breakfast. It was perhaps even worse for Degurechaff because this sort of life was the only thing she had known, and she thrived in it.

He had no doubt the Major would face down the tribunal with all her usual steel nerve and eloquence. But if she knew what her fate was to be, he suspected she might deliberately try to provoke the judges into giving her a swift end by firing squad.

* * *

**October 16, 1925, Londinium, Albion**

It was in a room hung in soft green silks in a discreet wing of Whitehall on a chilly October day that the fate of the world was decided. Or, at least, so the people in the room thought. Considering the power of the nations they represented, they might well have been right.

The representatives from the Empire had been feeling distinctly outnumbered throughout the discussions. But two years of continuous victory carried a weight all on its own, no matter how precarious the actual situation.

The peace treaties were yet to be finalized, but the broad outlines were already in place.

The Empire would be withdrawing from the Francois Republic and the Legadonian Entente. Well, not entirely. The Empire's Norden holdings would be significantly expanded. In exchange, the Francois and Legadonians both agreed to limit the size of their armies, pay substantial reparations, and agree to surrender all claims to Empire territory. On top of that, the Francois would give up large chunks of their African holdings, mostly to the Empire, and a few consolations to the Ildoans.

There were a few other things here and there. The Rus had demanded, and gotten, a demilitarized zone all along their now increased border with the Empire. And the Empire had gotten Albish agreement to stop blocking their attempts to establish trade agreements in the Middle East.

As for Dacia? Dacia was the bribe. The quid pro quo to the Empire giving up a 12-year-old girl who also happened to be the greatest aerial mage in the world. In exchange of losing the services of the Argent Silver, the Empire's conquest of Dacia would be formally recognized as legitimate by all the great powers. There were a few more concessions to go along with it, but that was the big one.

As the ambassador from Empire stood to stretch his legs, he glanced over and so the Albish and American delegations in deep discussion, with some others listening in on the edges. He already knew what the argument was about - who, exactly, would get to hold Major Degurechaff?

_What a lot of fuss over some little girl._ The Imperial ambassador had never met Degurechaff, but he knew blatant propaganda when he saw it. Whatever her ability as a mage, to attribute so many successes (and atrocities) to a 12-year-old was absurd in the extreme. And yet, the other countries were buying it! Well, if they were fool enough to give up bargaining points for some girl, he would be a fool not to take it, and thankfully the Emperor himself seemed to agree.

Still, he should get over there. Even in this case, he had clear instructions - he was to try his utmost to get the Major exiled to Waldstatten, and failing that, to the Unified States. The reason, of course, boiled down to the disaster at Brest. One of the first agreements the nations had hammered out was to ban research into quad-core computational jewels to prevent a repeat of the incident. Naturally, every nation was drawing up plans to discreetly violate the agreement before the ink was dry on the signatures.

The Empire, as creators of the original, had a leg up on the competition. As the only person to use one in combat, it was conceivable that Degurechaff would represent a similar leg-up to whoever managed to get access to her. With the Francois and Legadonians too weak to press their claim, that left the Albish and the Americans. Waldstatten was only in the running as the Empire's chosen candidate, thanks to their famed neutrality. In fact, Waldstatten was perhaps the only nation that might actually follow the quad-core ban. Naturally, that made them completely unsuitable in the eyes of everyone else. The ambassador would try his best, but it was looking more and more like he would have to support the Americans on this. If Degurechaff can't be exiled to a neutral country, better she be sent to one largely uninvolved in Europe. Squaring his shoulders, he headed into the (very polite) scrimmage. _For the Fatherland._

* * *

**October 30, 1925, Amstredam, The Empire**

Even though I'd spent quite a bit of time in the Low Countries fighting the Francois, I'd never actually had a chance to visit what in my time was one of the most famous tourist destinations. From what little I could see from my transport on my way to the docks, this Amstredam had been given over to the brutal practicalities of war... not surprising considering it was relatively nearby where the Francois army had been lured by Operation Revolving Door. I did not catch a single glimpse of the tulips that had been famous in my past life.

However, as I waited in my cell-slash-cabin aboard the ship that would transport me to the tribunal at Londinium, I was graced by a sight far more pleasant than any tulip. Of course, I would never express such a sentiment out loud to Visha, lest it cause some kind of misunderstanding.

While I was still holding out hope that this tribunal would be something other than the kangaroo court it promised to be, if reality was what I expected then Visha (and to a lesser extent, Weiss) would be my key to getting out of this alive. The two of them had been practicing to develop an undetectable illusion spell for use on civilian orbs, and when the time came they would pass on to me the orb with the spell already programmed in and ready to go. With an illusion to cover my distinct appearance I could disappear into the teeming populace of Londinium, an international melting pot far larger than Berun.

Of course, not even the greatest mage in the world can perform a spell first try based only on a pre-programmed orb. Luckily, in the last few days, the terms of my imprisonment had been relaxed and I was allowed visitors. Visha came by regularly to keep me company and alleviate my boredom with a game of chess. In reality, she was tutoring me in everything she had discovered in her magical experiments while we pretended to play. We had to be a bit circumspect about it, but it was easy enough to disguise our conversations as theoretical discussions on spell theory. Unless they were paranoid enough to not only record our conversations, but get a top mage or magical researcher to go over the recordings, we would be in the clear.

As we set up our regular game, she spoke openly about general topics. "Me and Weiss will be leaving the next day. They've ordered us to take a separate ship, they don't want anyone who knows you to travel on this one."

"But you are being permitted into Londinium as witnesses for my defense, right?"

"Oh yes, there's no problem there. Lieutenant Meyers set it all up."

Meyers was my council for defense. A pleasant enough gentleman, he seemed to be under the illusion that I had a very high chance of being set free and clear. Well, to be fair to him, if you just went by the facts then I should be in the clear. I guess not everyone can be sensitive to politics, although I did consider it something of a failing in a lawyer. In this case, he had been quite open to my suggestion of getting Visha and Weiss to act as witnesses, both to my actions and my character. Which meant my co-conspirators would be joining me in Londinium.

Sometimes, I felt a bit bad about dragging them into committing what some might call treason. I consoled myself with the thought that if all went according to plan no one would ever know of their involvement and they could go back to their lives and careers unimpeded. After all, their only part in the breakout would be handing me the computation orb _after_ I had broken out of my cell. While it would be much better to get the orb before the breakout, checking for attempts to smuggle in magical foci was the one thing my guards were paranoid about, and I didn't see that changing when we got to Londinium. No, for the breakout itself, I would be relying on my own skills. After that, I would meet up with Visha or Weiss at some predetermined location, pick up the orb, and disappear. Since no one seemed to have realized just how much I could do without an orb, I felt my chances were good.

We settled into our game, though none of us really paid it attention since we were both focused on what Visha had to tell me. There really wasn't much new to say, Visha had already filled me in on the essentials of the magical theory. Now it only became a question of how fast I could put that theory into practice if and when I had to flee. She did describe having successfully designed a short-range communication spell to use on the civilian orbs, and the theory indicated the spell might be possible to use without one.

As we wrapped up our game, I decided to test Visha's ideas on the communication spell. In theory I should be able to send a few words and emotions a short distance. The emotions in particularly were only possible because I was doing it without an orb, and I was itching to test it. So I focused inward, called up my spell, and tried to send Visha a few words and feelings of gratitude.

Unfortunately, I bungled it. While I was sure the words went through all right, the emotional payload ended up being a lot more than simple gratitude. I wasn't sure exactly what I'd managed to broadcast, but at least I knew it had to be fairly positive. Perhaps a bit too positive, considering how Visha went ramrod straight and turned as red as a tomato. Crap, why did I think it was a good idea to test untried spells on the person I'm relying on to help me escape?

I was frantically trying to think of how to explain my mistake to her without raising the curiosity of any eavesdroppers when there was a knock on the door. Oh no, was that spell somehow detected? I almost sighed in relief when the door opened to reveal Colonel Lergen.

"Major, I hope you might have a few minutes before the boat leaves. Unless I'm interrupting something?" he asked, looking at the blushing Viktoriya.

"We were just about done, Colonel. Lieutenant Serebryakov, thank you again for your support in this difficult time. I shall see you in Londinium."

"R...Right! Best of luck, Major!"

I and the Colonel waited in silence as Visha collected the chess board and decamped. Once the door closed behind her, Lergen took her seat.

Looking at me for a moment, he broke the silence. "While we may have had our differences in the past, I wanted you to know that I was one of those who spoke out against this."

I understood he was referring to that little set-to where he'd stopped me from disciplining some lazy and insubordinate cadets. Well, I'd always thought Colonel Lergen was a bit too kind for a soldier. I suppose it came with his having spent most of his career in a rear-echelon posting. Fighting down the little stab of jealousy, I reminded myself that the same kindness meant he was against the Empire permitting this trial, and I could use all the friends I could get. After all, if the tribunal proved as biased as expected, with officers like him speaking against it the Empire might just decide to pull me out lest it lose face.

Not that I expected any such thing. The papers had been busy covering the terms of the soon to be signed peace treaty. Surprisingly generous given we were potentially facing three superpowers in a two-front war. If I were the Emperor, I'd have cheerfully sacrificed a Major to secure such a favorable peace. No, as dangerous and infuriating as it was to me personally, I couldn't blame the Empire for doing the pragmatic thing.

Still, I needed to give a response, and begging to be let out of here wouldn't be appropriate. "You shouldn't risk your career over me, Colonel. Ultimately, the Empire is simply making the best use of its assets."

He seemed almost frozen at my response, then replied, "I guess you would know about that. You wrote the paper on it after all."

I couldn't stop the smile breaking out on my face. It was always good to hear one's work was appreciated. "Yes. It's such a shame none of our enemies had read it. Things might have been quite different then." If our enemies had understood the value of the human assets they would be wasting by provoking this war, I might have been able to grow up in a time of peace.

"It is good to see you are ready to face whatever the future holds."

Oh dear. If someone as well-connected as Lergen was this worried, the situation must be very bad indeed. Still, I couldn't tell him I had no intention of suffering my sentence meekly, so I just had to put a brave face on it. "The game is not over yet, Colonel. I was told the press was going to be present at my trial, and the Allied Kingdom is ultimately a democracy," I said. In fact, just remembering that tidbit made me smile even more broadly. "I will be interested to see exactly how they justify their verdict to both themselves and their public when the facts are on my side. Whatever happens, it should be quite the show."

Lergen must have been short on time, because he took his leave immediately after that even though there was still a while before the boat was due to leave.

Left alone with my thoughts, I wondered if I was being a bit too ambitious with my escape plan. If I had really wanted to, I was certain I and Visha could have arranged my breakout any time in the past week, at which point I could vanish into the Imperial countryside. However, there were a few things that prevented me from taking the simple option.

First, too many people in the Empire knew my face, thanks to those propaganda pieces celebrating the Argent Silver. Not even I could live under an illusion all the time, so sheer probability dictated someone would glimpse my real face sooner or later, and better it happen in a country where I had not been the focus of a propaganda campaign.

Second, there would be no practical advantages to staying in the Empire. The only place I was familiar with outside of various military camps would be Berun. And the only people who would help me, members of the 203rd, were also the first people suspicion would fall on. Since I was bound to be stuck in an unfamiliar place with no support, better it be Londinium, an enormous port city where the transients were almost as numerous as the residents and people were used to strangers of every possible nationality.

Finally, there was an element of revenge. Throughout the war, I had felt Albion's invisible hand working against the Empire. They had supported the Legadonians, supplied the Francois, diplomatically isolated the Empire, and arranged for the involvement of the Americans. Not to mention that ambush on me and mine right at the end of Operation Lockpick that had nearly gotten me killed. I could call them villains behind the scene almost on par with Being X. Now, I would have the chance to meet this foe face to face. I intended to do my best to expose the hypocrisy of this tribunal using the Albish press, and finally to leave them looking like incompetents when I pulled my disappearing act.

The last reason was, I was forced to admit, somewhat irrational, but I could not help but look forward to it. Yes, there would be no early escape for me. It would be in Londinium, capital of the greatest empire in this world, where I would roll the dice. Even the latent threat of interference from Being X couldn't keep me from feeling the thrill of impending battle.

_Now, how did that song in that Hollywood musical go? "There is a hole in the world like a great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and it's a place called London..."_


	5. Chapter 5

_A\N: I'm certain I made a complete mess of judicial procedure. Hope it's at least entertaining._

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

**Chapter 5**

I had originally planned to do everything I could to stretch out the trial as long as possible. After all, a successful military operation didn't happen without careful planning and proper scouting of the land, and the same applied to a prison break. After the first day of my trial came to a close on the first of November, I was starting to suspect this bit of planning may have been superfluous. On that first day, we never even got past the opening statements.

The prosecutor was the first to speak and he took up over two hours on his opening remarks. He also seemed to spend most of that time not talking about proving my guilt, but trying to convince the audience (including the reporters) to look past the fact that they were prosecuting a 12-year-old girl.

I had to keep from smirking. It seems coming to the court in a simple civilian dress that emphasized my small size and youth was already paying dividends. I'd been worried that military judges might frown upon seeing me out of uniform for what was supposed to be a judgement on my actions as a soldier, but so far no one had objected.

Naturally, when it was my defense counsel Meyers' turn to make his opening remarks, he blithely ignored the question of my guilt, and spent well over an hour harping on my youth, my theoretical childish innocence, my orphan status, and my supposedly pious upbringing. I didn't expect it to make much of a difference, of course. It's a rule in politics to never start an inquiry you don't already know the results to, and I'm sure the same extended to this trial. But if they were going to find me guilty anyway, I was going to do my best to make them look like puppy-kicking mustache-twirling villains.

Both lawyers went on for so long that soon I got sick and tired of being constantly reminded of my status as a child. Honestly, it infuriated me that after having worked so hard to be taken seriously as a professional soldier, I would have to now undo all that work and emphasize my childishness where the whole world could see it. But there is no tactic too low when your life is on the line, so I grit my teeth and bore it. Thus concluded the first day.

Later that evening, I got to do something far more productive - have a private meeting with Visha. Well, it was supposed to be private, but I wouldn't put it past the Albish secret service to try and listen in anyway. Luckily, there were quite a few tricks we could use to beat the primitive listening devices of the era. Holding the most secret portions of our conversation next to an open bathroom door with running water in the background, just for starters. Morse code tapped out on our hands as we held them was another. And of course, the third was giving any theoretical listeners a whole lot of useless dross to listen to, including a small contest between the two of us to see who could come up with the most insulting way to describe the judges.

Alas, Visha's observations only confirmed what I had suspected - moving to a foreign country didn't seem to have reduced the amount of security surrounding me. The Albish, if anything, seemed a lot more cautious. While the number of regular guards seemed reasonable, they had gone to the trouble of dedicating an entire mage company to security, working in three shifts. This meant there was never less than four aerial mages on duty at any given time, with two escorting me personally and two patrolling the skies for external threats. This neatly removed any possibility of brute force. Without a combat-rated orb of my own, trying to take on a combat mage was an exercise in futility unless I somehow achieved total surprise.

There was good news though - Visha had managed to smuggle the orbs into the quarters where she was staying (by the simple expedient of bribing one of her ship's sailors to do it for her), and might even manage to get them into the building where the trial was being held. Getting them into my hands would be a lot more difficult, judging by how thoroughly they searched her when she came to visit. Still, we could work with this.

* * *

It was on the fifth day of the trial that I was finally called to the stand, and by this time my patience was badly frayed. For over four days I had to sit silently through the parade of witnesses called to testify against me, and a less controlled individual may well have been frothing at the mouth at the sheer density of half-truths and hypocrisy. I also realized that this tribunal wasn't going to focus on the Brest incident - oh no, they were going to go over every single action I had taken during the war, looking for additional charges to stick to me.

The first witness was a survivor from that first company of Legadonian mages I'd ever tangled with. They didn't suggest I had done anything wrong, but the prosecutor insisted that the testimony was important to show that even at the age of nine I had possessed an 'insatiable bloodlust'. Since I wasn't asked to speak, I couldn't explain that the reason I'd been laughing like a lunatic was because I'd overdone the mental doping spell.

Several similar testimonies had followed, particularly after I got saddled with the Type 95 and got into the bad habit of broadcasting my Being X-induced insanity on open comms. Those mindless prayers and proclamations I had recited was now being held as proof that I had encouraged my fellow soldiers to fight without quarter and take no prisoners. Never mind that, being an aerial mage mostly fighting other aerial mages, taking prisoners was _slightly_ impractical.

Speaking of prisoners, they'd somehow dug up the Dacian general the 203rd had captured during Dacia's aborted invasion. As soon as I saw him on the stand, I knew my unknown enemy in the Imperial government was still working overtime to screw me over. I could tell the court was genuinely affected by the broken man who with quiet sincerity quoted my words on that day, "Kill everyone but the commanding officer." It was so infuriating I wanted to stand up and scream, "We would have captured the rest except the idiots died too quickly!" It was not my fault the entire population at the Dacian HQ died within 15 seconds of fighting - that's what happens when you stand out in the open in volley formation against aerial mages.

Then they brought in witnesses from Legadonia. Luckily, that campaign had been as clean as a military operation could get, so the prosecutor was stuck rehashing old territory trying to establish my ruthlessness, my competence, and clearly this little girl is the spawn of the devil so let's all just ignore her age, shall we? The only interesting bit was when they brought in some officer from Albion Intelligence to testify how a neutral Albish outpost in Legadonia had been bombarded without warning by yours truly. All I could think was,_ 'Is that what I'd been shooting at that day?'_

After that, they got onto Arenne. I'd expected it once I realized the way this trial was going, but it was still hard to sit through having myself slandered as a butcher and murderer of civilians when the rules of war that all nations agreed to abide by clearly classified the people of Arenne as enemy combatants. There was not a whisper about the Empire prisoners that had been executed by the partisans, not a word about the Francois mages using the city to conduct a guerrilla campaign, nor about the repeated warnings to evacuate that I had given them. Listening to the prosecution, it sounded as if I and the rest of the Empire army had rocked up to the city and proceeded to bombard it into rubble solely for my personal amusement.

It was only after this, at long last, that we arrived on the subject of Brest. The first accusation, naturally, was violating the armistice agreement. Even if the armistice wasn't going into effect until midnight, it was still a bit of a grey area. Here, they actually got somewhat clever. The V-1 rockets I had used to travel to Brest were designed to break apart in mid-air once they reached their destination, and the heavy nose cone was made to act as an impromptu kinetic weapon. Although in this case most of the cones had ended in the water, the two that had landed in the city was being held up as proof that I had fired the first shot, and the poor Francois army was only defending itself when they ignored all my demands to stand down and filled the sky with flak.

And then of course, came my use of the Type 95. While I had stuck to my original story of an accidental overload, the prosecutor insisted that the explosion had been triggered by malice aforethought, with thousands of civilians dead without being given an order to evacuate, and thousands of tons of 'neutral' Allied Kingdom shipping sunk without a formal declaration of war. The only part of that he got right was me deliberately setting off the Type 95, but the rest of his tirade made it a 'stopped clock' kind of accuracy. I was forced to admit though, he certainly made it all sound convincing if you were willing to ignore the colossal hypocrisy in calling the AK neutral. Damn, but the Albish were really milking the fact that they weren't officially in a state of war for all it was worth, weren't they?

By the time I was finally called to the stand I was understandably irritated. My temper further deteriorated when, instead of questioning me, the prosecutor spent the next twenty minutes exhorting the audience to look past my outward exterior to the evil that lay within. He didn't outright compare my physical appearance to the supposed beauty of the Devil before the fall from grace, but he certainly implied it. It was all I could do to keep my face from twitching with annoyance by the time he actually started in on me.

His first question had nothing to do with the facts, but another long-winded sentence that ended with "...do you at all regret the thousands of lives that have been lost at your hands?"

Well, at least that was an easy one. "I do not only regret the lives lost by my hands, but all lives lost since the beginning of this conflict. War is nothing but a most regrettable waste." My answer was delivered in clear if accented Albish. After considering the matter, I decided my knowledge of their language was known to too many people to keep secret (I'd taken a course on it in War College as an easy way to bump my grade), and it would at least let me make myself understood without relying on a translator.

"And yet your regret does not seem to have stopped you, or even slowed you down! Where was your regret when you claimed the lives of 10,000 civilians at Arrene, and another 5,000 at Brest?"

"I was a soldier under orders, and an officer that had sworn an oath of service. Just because I regret what I had to do while in uniform is no reason not to do it. After all, where would civilization be if we all broke our word when it became inconvenient?" Such a defense wouldn't fly back in my world after Nuremberg, but here no such precedent existed, and I doubted they were going to set one over my misdeeds, which compared to the rest of this war had been quite minor.

"And does you oath include attacking and murdering citizens of neutral parties without warning or provocation?"

I blame my worn temper for what happened next. I laughed. The bright cheerful laugh that my new body was blessed with, it cut right through the entire room. I knew it was a mistake even as the echoes faded, but it would look even worse if I tried to backtrack. So I had to keep going, "Neutral? Surely you jest! Any student of history can tell you that the Allied Kingdom has had but one foreign policy objective in the last five hundred years - to create a weak and disunited Europe."

The prosecutor's eyes flickered in annoyance, but he kept a bland face. I waited just long enough for the counsel to open his mouth, before overriding him as I continued my rant, "In the pursuit of this policy, you have fought with Legadonia against the Hapsburgs, with the former Dutch against Ispagnia, with Prussia against Osterry and Francois, and with the Francois against the Rus. And while you encouraged the continental powers to squabble over minor bits of territory, your fleets carried your flag to a quarter of the globe. So why would you change, when it has worked so well? The last time someone came close to uniting the continent was Bonaparte, and the Kingdom first funded, then led the war against the Francois Empire. Now the Prussian Empire stands the preeminent European power, and suddenly we have _neutral_ Allied army posts present on the battlefields of Legadonia. _Neutral_ shipping that is present in numbers just as the Francois needed a naval evacuation. Less than six months ago my unit was ambushed by a battalion of Albish-speaking mages - I suppose they were neutral as well!"

For a moment, it looked as if I might draw the prosecutor into a debate on European military history. Unfortunately, he kept his cool, and simply asked that my entire speech be struck from the record as being full of speculation and irrelevant. The motion was granted, but I saw some definite hints of amusement from the American and Imperial judges. At this point, I'd take my victories where I found them.

It seemed making me lose my temper had been the goal all along, because I was asked to step down shortly afterwards, at which point the prosecutor finally wrapped up his case. Come Monday, it would be the turn of the defense.

Over the weekend, Meyers and I went over our strategy. I did not need my lawyer to tell me I'd screwed up badly by snapping the way I did. The opposition was doing their best to paint me as violent and unstable, and giving rein to my temper was the worst thing I could have done. Now that it had happened once, I could expect every effort to provoke me again. However, I confidently assured Meyers that it would not happen again. He seemed dubious, but I could not ease his worries by revealing I planned to rely on my meditative variant of the mental doping spell to keep my cool.

But while I was confident in keeping my temper, it seems Meyers' own confidence in my case had been shaken. That Saturday evening, he brought me a new plea deal, and strongly recommended I take it. In exchange for accepting some lesser charges and a promise never to set foot in Europe, I'd be sentenced to only a few years in a minimum security prison in the Unified States. Furthermore, as long as I behaved, I'd be up for parole in a year's time - at which point, depending on how I cooperated, the Americans might be willing to grant me a provisional citizenship.

If I had been guilty of a fraction of the things they were accusing me of, it would have been a fair deal. Even with my innocence, there is something to be said for accepting a false sentence in order to avoid the risk of something worse. However, the big issue was trust. Could I trust them to keep this deal? Even the lesser charges I was confessing to could carry a sentence of up to twenty years. If they took my confession and then slammed me with the maximum, who would protest? Certainly not the Empire! And as for the promise of parole, that might as well have been a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. I'd seen enough Hollywood movies to not fancy my chances in the American prison system. Besides, part of me was loath to accept an unearned sentence. It felt like buckling under to Being X all over again.

Still, there was one part of the deal that interested me. The idea of quitting war-torn Europe for America, the land of opportunity - that was definitely attractive. Especially since I suspected the Francois and Legadonians were simply going to re-arm and come around for Round 2 within the decade, this time with Albion and Rus playing a more active role. If I could arrange an exile to the States without that pesky conviction, that would be ideal. Now, I just had to get Meyers to pass on the idea in a way that would seem attractive to the powers that be.

I tried to relax into a soft expression that would bring my youth to the fore and I said to my lawyer, "It's not that I am not interested in taking the easier path. But to accept guilt embarrasses not just me, but the Empire itself. To confess to war crimes would taint the entire victory, and lay the seeds of future conflict. I can resign from the army, I can even leave Europe for the sake of peace, but don't ask me to betray the Fatherland like this."

There, that was the best I could do. I was known as a fanatical patriot, so it should be easy to believe I would refuse to drag the Empire's reputation in the mud even to save my own skin. But ultimately, all they should care about was removing me from the battlefield. As long as they got me out of Europe and away from the front, why should they care about anything else?

* * *

**Sunday, November 7, 1925, Judges' Chambers**

Mueller, the Imperial judge on the Tribunal, shrugged as he looked at his Albish counterpart. "I warned you, Rutherford. Major Degurechaff is somewhat infamous for both her intelligence and her stubbornness. She's not going to give up, not as long as she believes she can win."

"But she can't! Her lawyer should have already let her know the score. She's skirted enough rules that we could justify putting her away for a long time, even if she's technically in the clear."

Mueller shrugged. "Precocious intelligence aside, she is still a child. Children do not understand politics, that takes experience. She does not understand that in the current political climate she cannot be allowed to roam free."

The American representative spoke up then, "That's cold, man. I know we agreed to all this, but the Empire seems way too ready to toss a supposed war hero under the bus. What's the catch? What aren't you telling us about her?"

Mueller shrugged. "No catch, as you put it. It's just that the good Major is a rather divisive figure at the moment. Her blatant insubordination is drawing admiration and condemnation in equal amounts, and it was decided it would be best if she was removed from the Empire. Since all of you wanted the same thing, I don't see the problem."

"Yes, well, your precocious child is making us a laughing stock. That little rant of hers got printed verbatim in half the Londinium papers! Is she going to go on like that?" came the rejoinder from Rutherford.

A careless shrug showed exactly how much the Empire cared about Albion's probable embarrassment.

* * *

It was Monday, and we were doing our best to prove the accusations against me were a load of old tosh (as the Albish would say).

To make sure I could keep my temper, I was in my magically-reinforced meditative state. I didn't like it much since it numbed the world around me, but it was excellent for not letting the slings and barbs of fortune get through my composure. Thus mentally girded, I set about the task at hand.

First, there were the many witnesses that the prosecution had called to paint me as some sort of bloodthirsty lunatic. While my character was supposedly not on trial, I knew a political move when I saw one, and countered it with Visha and Weiss. They both went up there and did a sterling job painting me as a tough but fair commander who always went the extra mile to look out for her men. This was nothing unexpected - I was an HR professional, if I couldn't promote employee productivity and happiness then I would not have risen as quickly as I did in my last life.

Weiss even went on to mention our attack on the Dacian capital and how I had insisted on following the rules of war and issuing a warning before giving the attack order. It seemed Weiss was learning how to make the rules work for him instead of the other way round, as he made no mention of how I had delivered the warning in my most childish voice in order to make sure the enemy did not take it seriously. I almost smiled - it was always pleasing for a boss to see how an employee had grown under their tutelage.

After that came the time to actually counter the charges. Here, I could have gone into the motivations, the details, the reasoning behind my actions. That would have been foolish. The fact was, the rules of war were on my side. The more I tried to argue the details, the more the opposition could obfuscate the matter by bringing in morality and ethics and maybe even religion.

Besides, the last week had been long enough to put my escape plan into place. Now it was simply holding out to see if I could somehow pull a win in the courtroom. So, I had no reason to beat around the bush.

My defense was thus, simple. Arenne was a case where all civilians had been evacuated, and anyone who was still left in the city was clearly an enemy combatant. That they did not wear uniforms did not stop their capacity for violence - as exhibited by recordings of the execution of Imperial prisoners.

Brest was even simpler - a military operation against a legitimate target. That an armistice had been agreed to was irrelevant, as it was not yet in effect. The great enthusiasm with which the Francois had unloaded their weapons on me showed that they must have agreed with my interpretation. The subsequent destruction of the port was regrettable, but I was not responsible for what was ultimately an equipment malfunction. My evidence? The obituaries of the three flight mages that died testing the Type 95, my own protest (in writing) against using what was ultimately a poorly understood piece of equipment, and Dr. Schugel's own final report explaining the working of his masterpiece (a three-page long sermon on the divine perfection of the device and the glory of god, with absolutely no concrete technical explanation).

The last detail was my supposed refusal to take prisoners, the prime witness being the Dacian general. Here, I demanded the general be brought back to the stand, and then asked a simple question - during the entire 'battle', did any of his HQ guard actually call out to surrender?

I could see he was tempted to lie, but credit to him, he admitted that no, they hadn't. Then he screamed, "But that's because _that she-devil_ killed them all before they even had a chance!"

Now, at this point, he should have been silenced by the court. But it seemed judicial impartiality was in abeyance as in the extended silence following his cry, everyone turned to look at me, even though I was not in the witness box and technically not allowed to speak. Well, what could I say, but the truth? "It is not my fault your soldiers are so incompetent they can't even survive long enough to surrender." They quickly removed him after that which was just as well. He looked on the verge of either crying or attacking me, and that was more drama than I needed.

All in all, the whole defense was wrapped up shortly after lunch. Which meant we could now move on to cross-examination - the _fun_ part of the exercise, or at least so I remembered from TV courtroom dramas. The prosecution went first, and immediately called upon me. Interesting, I thought they'd want to attack Visha or Weiss, throw their testimony into doubt since they were my subordinates. Still, this was good for me. My only weakness was my temper, and I had that under control.

The prosecutor didn't waste time. The legal interpretation under which I had destroyed Arenne - was I not the author behind it? "I proposed it. But it was the Empire's legal authorities who decreed it correct and made it military policy. The destruction of Arenne itself was a direct order from Berun, under the interpretation that, yes, I had proposed."

And did it not bother me in the slightest that helpless women and children had been caught up in the bombardment? That was such a ridiculous question to ask me, I couldn't help but smile. "I killed six aerial mages at the age of nine. They even gave me a medal for it. Age is no bar to being a threat."

What about all the civilians in Brest? None of them had been given the chance to evacuate. "I was not targeting them. Their deaths were caused by faulty equipment that I was forced to use under protest. Should I feel guilty every time a poorly made artillery piece or engine blows up?"

He kept at it until recess, but he never came close to tripping me up. The cross-examination would continue tomorrow, but I was confident I could keep him at bay, and after that it would be our turn to tear into _his_ witnesses. Even if it meant nothing in the end, I couldn't help but feel I was giving a good accounting of myself.

* * *

**Judges' Chambers**

This time, all six of the judges were present, and it was the Waldish judge that started the conversation as he addressed the Imperial representative. "Colonel Mueller, _what is wrong with that girl_?"

"I'm... not sure what you mean?"

"Are you serious? Can you not see that was not normal behavior for a twelve-year-old? We were talking the deaths of thousands, and the most emotion we got out of her was mild irritation! She _smiled_ while discussing the deaths of women and children!"

"Well, to be fair, she has been exposed to the horrors of war from a very early age. Is it that surprising that her behavior is a bit off?"

"Oh, don't act as if this is someone else's fault! Might I remind you it was _your_ Empire that allowed a pre-teen girl onto the battlefield in the first place?"

"Now, now, let's all calm down," stepped in the American judge. "I admit, her behavior was quite abnormal, though. Mueller, what does her latest psych eval say?"

"Psych eval?"

The Imperial's puzzled tone froze the entire room. Then the American spoke slowly, as if trying to disbelieve the words coming out of his mouth, "Are you trying to tell me... that you put a _city-killing_ weapon in the hands of a twelve-year-old... without first checking to see if she was _sane_?"

"Well, we didn't know it could kill a city back then, did we?" Upon seeing the distinctly unamused expressions on the faces of his fellow judges, Mueller hurried on, "But I'm sure it must have been done at some point. I just haven't seen it myself."

"Well _find_ it!" came the furious rejoinder. "This is unbelievable. Even an ordinary aerial mage with an ordinary orb can flatten this building if he flips out, and Tanya von Degurechaff is the opposite of ordinary! When we offered to play host to her, it was with the understanding that she was overpowered - not an overpowered lunatic!"

"Agreed. This was a serious oversight." said the Waldish judge, while simultaneously glaring down the Francois judge who had opened his mouth to object. "We'll declare a pause to the proceedings until you can find those evaluations."

* * *

**Friday, November 11, Judges' Chambers**

"No evaluation? Are you kidding me?"

Mueller had the grace to look embarrassed. "Our mental tests were designed for adult candidates. It was decided they wouldn't apply to an eight-year-old, so the psych evaluation was waived until Degurechaff had gone through puberty. The file recommended she be administered one after she turned fifteen, and in the meantime her commanders were asked to keep an eye on her."

"And none of them spotted anything amiss?" came the question from Rutherford of Albion.

"Many of them commented on her astounding maturity and intellect. She was smart, obedient, talented, hardworking, a harsh disciplinarian, and as her first action proved, a natural born killer. In many ways, she was an ideal officer candidate, age notwithstanding. Only one of her superiors ever raised any concerns about her mental state, but the litany of praise from others resulted in his report being swept under the rug as an isolated incident."

"And what was this lone officer's comment on the girl?"

"That she was a full blown psychopath with extremely violent tendencies and should be treated with extreme caution."

"And you ignored a report like that?!"

"To be fair, the report was based on a single incident during her days as a trainee that was never repeated. She was deemed to have learned her lesson from the resulting reprimand, and further investigation was refused."

"You mean she learned how to hide her lunacy under a veneer of civilization. Do you understand why we must be rid of her?" cried out the Francois gentleman.

"Now, now, let's not go overboard." replied Mueller calmly. "As the youngest aerial mage officer in the Empire, I can assure you she has been under enormous scrutiny from day one. A single bout of misbehavior is hardly the same as a mental disorder. We've all had our bad days."

"None the less, this should be investigated properly," declared Rutherford. "We need to get a trained professional to look at the recordings of her testimony, and maybe even examine her in person."

"Is that really necessary? After all, she's going to be exiled anyway," observed Mueller. The Ildoan and Waldish judges both looked upset at this, but neither of them were in a position to protest for various reasons.

"Yes, but convicting her was always going to raise questions given the tenuous nature of the case against her," came the reply. "A medical opinion is much harder to ignore. Besides, I don't really see the objection. A pleasant stay in a rest home is much better than a conviction for war crimes."

Mueller seemed distinctly unhappy at this, but didn't raise any vocal objections when his fellow judges agreed to implement the suggestion.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 15, 1925**

I didn't show it, but the sudden suspension of the trial for a full week had me rattled. I couldn't help but think that the strong defense I had mounted had led to my persecutors seeking an alternate route of attack. Unfortunately, I was proven right.

Doctor Henry Smith was kindly faced, calm voiced, and someone I would have cheerfully strangled in the crib. He got up on the stand, and with the calm assurance of someone with the appropriate medical degree and over twenty years of experience in the field of psychology, firmly declared me as 'mentally aberrant'. He didn't come out and declare me insane though, oh no. He patiently explained that, without properly examining me in person, he would not make any sort of formal diagnosis. However, simply by studying the recordings of me on the witness stand, he had no hesitation in declaring my behavior as extremely out of the norm for a young lady of my tender years. Whether this was due to some natural deviation in the brain or due to my early exposure to the horrors of war, it was impossible to say. But I _was_ apparently abnormal, and I needed to be properly examined so I could be diagnosed and a course of treatment prescribed.

At least the prosecution was thorough. Not satisfied with one testimony, they brought forward two others, who more or less repeated the words of the first. The last one seemed almost inappropriately excited at the thought of 'examining' me. I made a mental note to put a bullet in his brain should the opportunity present itself, for the sake of his patients.

Even as part of me was drowning in despair, the other part couldn't help but admire the insidious nature of this attack. The only way to refute it would be to allow myself to be examined. But even if I got a perfectly fair and unbiased psychiatrist to look me over, I knew that I couldn't escape. After all, I was a grown man trapped in the body of a little girl. And leaving that aside, I was fully aware that my focus on rationalism had placed me outside the norm even in my past life. Combine those two, and only an utterly corrupt or incompetent psychiatrist would ever give me a clean bill of health.

Some might think an asylum might be better than a prison. They were fools. With a prison, you at least had a date of release. In an asylum, you were only ever getting out if your doctor permitted it. Escaping would be easier, you say? Unlike prisons, asylums had the right to keep their inmates drugged to the gills and chained to their beds. And depending on the country, asylum patients might even be forbidden legal representation, so good luck using the law to get yourself out. To declare a person insane was to effectively revoke his most basic human rights, and this was in the enlightened 21st century. The state of mental health in this primitive society didn't even bear thinking about. Weren't lobotomies coming into style sometime around now?

I briefly toyed with accepting their plea bargain, but there was no point. My enemies had stumbled on the perfect tool to keep me permanently incarcerated, they had no need to make a deal with me now.

No, it seemed the final contingency was going to come into play after all. Rather than fearing the life of a criminal on the run, I felt exhilaration. All my choices had been stripped away, all false hope denied, my back was to the wall and my enemies in front. Sad to say, but this was a situation I was far too familiar with in this life. Even as Meyers prattled on next to me, I felt the familiar combat high singing through my veins. There were still a few days left in this trial. No matter. I was determined that I would only need one.

* * *

**The same day, Berun Military HQ**

General Zettour stood in front of his superior and tried not to snarl. _No, not my superior. Merely an officer of higher rank._

"You want me to go to Londinium, and _order_ the Major to accept this ridiculous plea bargain? Confess to crimes she didn't commit and accept exile and imprisonment across the ocean?"

"Please, Zettour, you need to understand. It is one thing for a soldier to get... over-zealous... in times of war. But to have her be declared insane? Think of the dishonor! Or do you think those mind-quacks could be convinced that the Major is an ordinary little girl?"

"_Ordinary?_" growled Zettour. "Tanya von Degurechaff is nothing less than extraordinary, and you know it!"

"Extraordinary. Insane. It's a fine line, Zettour. And do we really want such an excellent soldier being consigned to the loony bin?" The senior general Plotzen pushed across an envelope stamped by an elaborate seal. "Here, this is a guarantee signed by the Emperor himself. He's already spoken to the Americans. As long as the Major accepts the plea bargain, she'll be given the lightest possible sentence. Her subsequent exile will come with a guaranteed stipend and a decent living space. The might of the Empire backs this, it will not be violated."

Zettour studied the man for a long moment, then his lips pulled into a shark grin. "Ah. I see now. As long as she's a war criminal, it's all _her_ fault. A verdict of insanity, though, puts the responsibility squarely on the Empire's shoulders."

His interlocutor stiffened, face darkening in anger. "You go too far. Are you refusing to follow orders, _Major General_ Zettour?"

"Oh, I'll do it. And I'm sure she'll do it too, since it's a direct order. And, I suppose I'm glad she will even if it means losing her to the Americans." replied Zettour as he turned away. His last words were pitched just loud enough to carry, but soft enough that the general in the chair could pretend not to hear them. "After all, it's not like we deserve her anymore."

* * *

**Wednesday, November 16, Londinium**

It all started with a simple request. I asked to be escorted to the restroom. This was something I'd done often enough that the two mages escorting me did not even blink. Just as before, the two men took up their posts outside the ladies' room as I went in to do my business.

When I got there, I headed directly for the leftmost stall, and started feeling behind the cistern. There, in the same place I'd felt it the last three times I'd checked, was a small package stuck in place with sticky tape. Yes, I'd ripped this idea from The Godfather. It worked for me just as well as it had for Michael Corleone. _Thank you, Visha._

Stepping out of the stall computation orb in hand, I took a deep breath. _Showtime._ The mage presence drastically complicated matters. My first trick was also the trickiest.

The first step was a blasting spell. There was no way a civilian orb could cast it, so instead I used the Junghans M2-G to leech any excess mana as I built it up in my bare hand. My experience with the Type 97 stood me in good stead here. The M2-G was utterly incapable of parallel casting, but my experience with the same meant I could hold one spell in my hand while doing something else with the orb - in this case, absorbing any leaked mana that might tip off my guards.

Once the blasting spell was ready, I let fly at a wall that I knew separated the restroom from a currently unoccupied office. Even as the spell was in the air, I was making a leap for the bit of wall above the doorway. The air around my fingernails (carefully filed into points) started to ripple, and the tiny mage blade spells bit deeply and smoothly into the brick.

Hanging on by one's fingertips might have been extremely difficult, if it weren't for body reinforcement. Even at the minimal level I was capable of, I was still a 25-kilo girl capable of bench-pressing 50. I dropped the mage blade spells, hanging on by grip alone, and activated an illusion of an undamaged wall. Just in time, too, as my escort stormed into the room.

While they cleared the corners in adequate fashion, I was somewhat disappointed none of them bothered to look up, instead all their attention was focused on the big hole in the wall. As they were gawking at that, I swung down and out into the hallway, and started to hustle, an illusion of a reporter I'd noticed in the audience covering myself.

I passed several people poking their heads out of their offices wondering what the ruckus was about, but no one stopped me as I followed the instructions from Visha and Weiss' meticulous scouting to a small locked side exit. Here, I had to drop the illusion and switch to an extremely low-power shield spell. Shield spells were all about creating solid shapes out of mana. In this case, the mana poured into the keyhole, and took the shape of a key.

One swift click, and I was out in an alley running beside the building, once more mimicking the wall. There was a guard at the alley exit, and credit to his discipline, he was ignoring the alarms that were starting to spread and maintaining his post. Unfortunately, he was no mage, so it was trivial to distract him with a projected noise and slip by him. The only anxious moment was when one of the mages on air patrol did a fly-by, but it seemed Albion mages were as incompetent as non-203rd Imperial mages when it came to spotting illusions.

As soon as I was out of sight of the courthouse, I dropped the full-body illusion. I'd been running it for less than a minute, and the civvie orb was already overheating. Instead, I kept my physical stature, and made only a few minor changes - eye color, hair color, facial features. Just enough to turn myself into what I had looked like when I was twelve in my previous life - if I had been born a girl. Unfortunately, I was still in women's clothing, or I could have taken my male features at twelve... well, nine, given my lack of height.

Akitsushimani were rare in Londinium, but my mastery of the language would allay any suspicion. Unlike Albish, no one knew I spoke the language.

Still, I was not out of the woods yet. My clothes were warm enough for the moment, but this was Londinium in winter. I needed a proper coat and other winter wear. Three blocks away I found them. Behind a skip carefully described to me by Visha, a backpack filled with warm clothes, a utility knife, trail mix, a second computation orb, and about thirty pounds sterling in currency.

I had just finished wrapping myself up when the sound of pounding feet sent my heart into my throat. Preparing to sell my life dearly, I couldn't help the gasp of relief when Visha came charging around the corner.

"What... _what are you doing here_? I swear if you've been followed..." I snarled, dropping my illusion.

"Don't (huff) worry, Major. Weiss is (huff) covering for me, no one saw me leave." The gleam of a computation orb in her hand explained how she'd pulled this off.

"Well, fine, but why...?"

"Let me come with you!"

"What...? What about your family? Your friends?"

"They... they can manage without me. You'll be all alone..."

I could tell she didn't want to. No matter how her loyalty might drive her to make the offer, Visha had roots in the Empire. The cynical voice in my head was telling me that she might be willing now, but a few months separated from her loved ones would see her singing a different tune. Besides, cold rationality told me Visha was more likely to be liability than asset. No matter how valuable a trustworthy minion might be, I was no master of subterfuge, and Visha was much, _much_ worse. I could barely conceal myself, hiding her as well was just inviting disaster.

Yet, in spite of what logic said, for the longest moment I was tempted to say yes. The reason was obvious as well. In both of my lives I had never had a subordinate so loyal and self-sacrificing. An asset like that was literally irreplaceable, yet here I was, forced to throw it aside. It must have been pain at the sheer waste that was threatening to bring tears to my eyes.

"No. Don't be stupid. Stick to the plan. You have your path for now, and I have mine. Farewell."

"Will we meet again?"

That brought me up short. The obvious answer was no, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. "If you have faith... in yourself. If you're smart enough. If you want it enough. Then anything is possible." Even as I spoke the trite words, I felt the need for something more. Yet, what could I say? For the last two years, Visha had simply been _there_. Doing whatever was needed (even if I didn't want her to). I'd never really examined my feelings for her, and now when the moment had come for me to speak, I didn't have the words.

As was my habit in this life, when all else failed, I turned to magic. Activating the empathic communication spell, I poured everything I felt towards Visha, and sent it to her. Hopefully, she'd make more sense of it than I could. I didn't wait to see her reaction, instead running off into the Londinium streets with a muttered goodbye.

* * *

Weiss was burning with curiosity as to what had happened to the Major, but he was too professional to ask where they might be heard. He and Visha had been confined to their quarters while the search for his superior - _well, former superior now_ \- went on. Luckily, their quarters shared a common room, so at least they could keep each other company. That, and a few whispered words from Visha had allayed the worst of his anxiety. Not to mention how glad he was Visha had managed to return before someone spotted the illusion he had created to mimic her.

Still, there was no denying that Visha was in a strange mood. She seemed completely lost in thought, alternately frowning and blushing, and Weiss didn't know what to make of it. He was wondering how the Major intended to pass this winter night - it was already well past evening - when the door to their quarters slammed open.

Both he and Visha leaped to their feet, first in defensive stances, then to attention, as a thunderous General Zettour stalked into the room. "Captain Weiss. Lieutenant Serebryakov. Can anyone of you tell me what in hell is going on here, _and where the hell is Major Degurechaff?_"

* * *

I looked at the boy. Judging by his awkward limbs and frame, he was around fourteen or fifteen. He was already fairly tall, and would be well past six feet once he stopped growing. Not that he looked so tall now, sitting on the cold pavement clutching a broken nose.

A red-haired girl my age was currently out cold in the gutter, since she'd been stupid enough to pull out a sharpened bit of metal that some might call a knife if they had sufficiently low standards.

The rest of his little coterie, a pair of scrawny boys a bit older than me, were looking at me with trepidation while trying to work up the courage to defend their leader's honor. I swiftly put paid to that by taking the rusty shank and twirling it around my hand in some flashy moves before making it vanish. Basic combat knife handling combined with some illusions, but more than enough to impress these punks.

Once I had left Visha, I had deliberately sought the seediest parts of the city, on the theory that it was the last place law enforcement would want to look. And I must have found it, judging by the little ambush I had almost walked into.

I looked over the four as the conscious ones stared at me silently. Honestly, their little setup hadn't been bad for untrained street kids. Two in front as distraction, two coming up silently from behind. And they'd been following me for a few blocks before picking a place with no witnesses. Their motive was obvious - my clothes were obviously better, newer and cleaner than any of theirs. Still, their actions showed a certain amount of patience and organization - or, at least, experience. And that was something I could work with, until I found something better.

Since I was back in my Aki girl disguise, I made sure to leave some of my past life's accent in my Albish: "Hello! Nice to meet you! I am Tina! You're pretty tough, but I'm tougher! What's your name?"

As I said this, I held out my hand to the leader. He looked up at me suspiciously for a long moment, then accepted it and let me pull him up. No stupid attempts at revenge or restarting the fight - good, he was already smarter than the Francois government. "Name's Oliver." he mumbled.

"Well Oliver, I'm new here. I could use friends. Would you like me to be your friend?"

_A\N: Comment, please!_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

_A\N: This is it for the backlog. The story will be updated as and when new chapters get written._

**Chapter 6**

When I first offered my services to Oliver and his merry band, it wasn't out of any particular desire to seek employment as a common criminal. However, while I eventually planned to make my way away to the Unified States - land of the free, the brave, and at least at this point in time, liberal immigration policies - I needed a few things first. I needed to book a berth on a ship to my destination, which was the easiest part as the money Visha had furnished me with was more than sufficient to pay my way. I needed enough money to make a new life for myself in a strange land - which was harder as travel expenses would eat up at least half my current reserve, and legal sources of income for a young child are limited. Third, we were heading into winter. This was no time to be travelling anywhere except south, and that was not an option for obvious reasons. Which meant for the next few months, I needed somewhere to lay low. This would have the useful side-effect of not having to tangle with the security that was even now undoubtedly being emplaced on all ports and roads. Finally, I needed identification papers that would at least stand up to a cursory inspection until I could get a US citizenship, and for that I needed a forger.

If this was a Hollywood movie, my being a former elite military operative would automatically translate to having friends in low places and knowing where exactly you need to go in a strange city to find whatever criminal specialist you need. Since in both my lives I'd made it a point not to associate with criminals, I'd understandably failed to acquire this necessary education. And it's not something you ask around for either. Even if my practical knowledge of the criminal world was nonexistent, it was obvious that a criminal would only reveal themselves to people he knows can be trusted not to turn him in. To get access to a specialist like a forger, particularly a good one, I would need to become sufficiently reputed and trusted in the Londinium underground.

While I was wary of using pop culture as a source of information, I figured as long as I used my common sense, I could pick out a few useful tidbits in order to make my way in. After that, observation and experience would do the rest.

First, no involving myself in rape or murder. All my knowledge emphasized how nothing caught the eye of the law like violent crime. Even muggings as my current companions had attempted have a possibility of going wrong and bringing down excessive amounts of attention. On the other hand, if I could nudge my companions towards 'clean' crimes, as juvenile delinquents we could get away with quite a bit before the police started to take us seriously.

Second, be ready and willing to put the hurt on. Seemingly contrary to the first, while violence was to be avoided while commissioning crime, one had to display a readiness to do violence while associating with fellow criminals. After thinking about it, I realized it made sense. Most criminals made a living preying on the weak, and so one could not ever appear weak. I did not worry about this part, it honestly seemed no different than my never ending effort to be taken seriously during my army days.

Third, always assume there's a traitor. Criminals are not prone to be reliable. Any number of reasons can drive one to betray their comrades, not just to the law but to rival gangs. Any group I associated with would have to be secured against such. While I had no intention of meting out the traditional fate of 'snitches' on anyone I caught (see the first point regarding murder), I also couldn't allow myself to be betrayed as a fate far worse than prison awaited me. This would be the trickiest. The best answer was to use my experience in Human Resources to promote in-group loyalty, but I was not optimistic. I remembered the incompetent fool from my first life who murdered me in a fit of violence. And this was a man who had been carefully vetted before being recruited by a prestigious company. My new coworkers most likely contained a mixture of incompetence and violent tendencies that would put my former murderer to shame. They were probably as bad as the worst of the conscripts the Empire had sent to me for training. Well, I had methods of dealing with such. Colonel Lergen might disapprove, but I think my circumstances merited sterner measures than might be acceptable in a more forgiving and rational organization like the Imperial Army.

Fourth, and most important, money talks. Criminals were ultimately more motivated by greed than any other strata of society. As long as I proved myself a capable earner, I would earn myself enough 'friends' to keep myself protected until the time came to leave these shores.

Yes, these four points seemed the most sensible of all the advice my layman's knowledge of criminal behavior had to offer. They should let me stay safe and ingratiate myself with the criminal masses until such time as I could leave all this behind.

* * *

**November 18, 1925, Prime Minister's Office, Londinium**

The Prime Minister of the Allied Kingdom glared at his cabinet. "All right, gentlemen. I have half the countries in the world accusing the Kingdom of sponsoring or aiding the kidnapping of Degurechaff. I have the other half mocking our incompetence for being unable to secure a 12-year-old girl. The Empire's threatening to restart the war if we don't produce their hero. Tell me we have something I can tell the world that will make us look just a bit less like utter buffoons."

The chief of MI5 and the head of the SIS exchanged glances, before the former stepped forward. "We've finished questioning everyone involved in the incident. It's confirmed, the last anyone saw Degurechaff is going into the ladies' room on the ground floor of the building. It's almost as if the explosion that destroyed a wall of the room vaporized her as well, except that's impossible. However, questioning her guards brought something new to light. Both guards are adamant that just before or at the same time as the explosion, they sensed a burst of magic."

"Magic? You mean enemy mages sneaked in and kidnapped her?"

"That is an avenue we are researching. However, both the guard's reports and the debris from the blast indicate that the explosion originated from _inside_ the room. The guards did check the room, and it was unoccupied before Degurechaff went in. Right now, our prime suspect for the explosion is Degurechaff herself."

"I thought mages couldn't cast spells without a computation orb," opined the Home Secretary.

"Not something like a controlled explosion, anyway. I've talked with our best mages and while some of them can achieve a small amount of strength enhancement without an orb, an explosion is well beyond anyone."

"Are we sure about that?" asked the Prime Minister. "The Francois seem terrified of this girl and what she's capable of."

"Quite sure. No, the most likely reason is that someone managed to sneak in a computation orb into that restroom. Our prime suspect is Lieutenant Viktoriya Serebryakov. She was there as a witness for the defense, she was Degurechaff's adjutant, and she had used that restroom several times during the trial, including earlier that day."

"So, it's the Imperials trying to pull a fast one? Have you interrogated this Serebryakov?"

The MI5 chief winced. "No. In fact, she and Captain Weiss, the other member of Degurechaff's battalion, are already on their way home. Just hours after Degurechaff escaped, General Zettour from Berun HQ showed up, placed the two under his protection, and demanded they be immediately returned to the Empire before 'Albish incompetence costs the Empire any more loyal soldiers'. That's a direct quote. He waited only long enough for the two to give a statement, in which they naturally deny everything, then packed them onto a boat while he ran interference."

"_And you let him_?" came the exasperated cry from the Prime Minister.

"We couldn't hold him without potentially starting another war. He made it clear that unless we provided some solid evidence for holding his subordinates, he was perfectly willing to shoot his way out."

"And what did he have to say about the computation orb that Degurechaff got her hands on?"

"He demanded to see scanner recordings confirming it."

"And?"

"We had a scanner dedicated 24/7 to watching that area. However, that first explosion barely showed up as a blip against the magic signal from Degurechaff's aerial mage escort. And after that, we had nothing. The general was unimpressed, he pointed out that if Degurechaff had actually used an orb to escape, the signal would have come out steady and clear. In fact, he openly made the suggestion that since our guards were the only aerial mages present that were actually putting out magic, we were the ones responsible for kidnapping her and the explosion nothing but a very transparent diversion. I feel that will also be Berun's official position on the matter."

"Wait one ruddy second," interrupted the First Lord of the Admiralty. "You just got done telling us Degurechaff couldn't blow that wall without an orb. So why's it not on the scanner?"

"The obvious answer is that after blowing the wall, she made the rest of her escape without relying on the orb. Which was smart of her, since if she had both our mages and the scanner would have been able to tail her. She didn't have to run for long - just long enough to get outside, at which point a team could have been waiting to pick her up and get her into hiding."

"A team? You think she had outside help?"

"I pretty much guarantee it. Without magic, she's still a twelve year old girl, no matter how well-trained. And she can't use her magic without immediately being detected, not with all the scanners and mages we've got aimed at this city. No, she used just enough magic to get out of sight of the guards, then hoofed it on foot until she could meet up with her helpers."

"And that way the Imperials get back their weapon while making us look like the villains," snarled the First Lord.

A soft cough drew attention to the head of the SIS. "I agree the Empire is the obvious suspect - the ease with which they agreed to give her up, as well as the timely appearance of one of their Generals all add up to this being a ploy by Berun. Still, we can't chase the obvious while ignoring other possibilities. Just about any country except the Americans have good reason to want to snap up Degurechaff. If Berun was genuine in abandoning her, it wouldn't take much to convince her to jump ship."

"And in the meantime we're left holding the bag," noted the Prime Minister.

"I'm afraid so," agreed MI5. "I'm afraid we'll just have to bear it for now, but we'll recover. This plan had too many moving parts - we'll just have to keep pushing, and something will give. If nothing else the team they used to snatch her will have left traces. Whether Empire or someone else, we'll nail them down eventually. And don't forget, the Americans are quite upset about all this. If nothing else, we can rely on them to make it hot for whoever is sheltering her."

* * *

**December 21, 1925, Londinium**

The idea of tormenting someone through the sound of nails on chalkboard (or in this case, a magically-hardened knife on glass) may sound cartoonish. But, it can be quite effective if the victim has their ear pressed right up against the glass, and they can also see the very sharp blade getting closer and closer to cutting something much softer. Honestly, I was glad for the experience in parallel casting. That's the only way I could pull this trick using an orbless spell on the knife while using my orb to keep up the seeming of Tatsumaki Kurosawa, aka 'Tina'.

A bit of background. It turns out, contrary to popular belief, criminals do pay taxes. For example, Oliver's crew, of which I was now a member, had to pay fully half their earnings to their 'boss' Ian McClane. Now, I was not opposed to the idea of taxes. The government collected it, and in exchange provided their citizens with infrastructure, public utilities, and protection from enemies foreign and domestic. That the government usually did it with a great degree of inefficiency and favoritism is neither here nor there. So, what services did McClane provide for his 50% tax rate? In theory, he provided protection from other criminals and the police and made sure us street kids could earn a living without interference from the rest of society. In practice, the criminals most likely to attack us were his own bully-boys, the police ignored everyone in this part of town equally, and it was entirely to his benefit that what little existed in the way of social services never made it to the children under his 'care'.

All this, I could have lived with. I wasn't here to reform the Londinium underground, I was just here to lay low, save up a few pounds, and find a forger I could trust.

The trouble came with the fence that McClane insisted we use for disposing of our stolen goods. The fence would short us on payment, badly. While a certain discount was to be expected when trying to dealing with stolen merchandise, he was literally offering us pennies on the pound, and half of those pennies were then lost to McClane. Even worse, a cursory investigation on my part revealed McClane was aware of this, and was splitting the profit with him.

This little con was a step too far for me. Unlike the other children in the crew, I didn't have friends or family members that could help defray my expenses. I had to pay for everything out of pocket, and thanks to this scam, in spite of all the extra business they were doing thanks to my efforts (pickpocketing is a lot easier with enhanced reflexes), I was barely breaking even. The straw that broke the camel's back was a beautiful solitaire diamond ring that I knew for a fact retailed for a hundred and eighty pounds. Even the most avaricious fence would have offered us twenty for it. This fence, Jeremy Biggins, gave us five. I wasn't sure how much he gave McClane for it, and that's what I was here to find out.

In the end, I didn't actually have to cut Jeremy. By the time the screeching blade had made it over to his nose, he was screaming that he'd given McClane twenty five pounds for the ring.

"Well, that just won't do, Mister Biggins. I'm pretty sure you were supposed to give _us_ the twenty-five pounds, not McClane. It was our steal, after all. But then, I bet it was all just an honest mistake. In fact, I bet you feel so bad about it you're going to make it up to us right now, aren't you?"

"Awww, you mean we're not gonna cut up this piece of shite?" This was from Red Jenny, the adorable little thirteen-year-old Irish who had pulled a knife on me the first time we met. As her actions might suggest, she was quite the budding psychopath, and was only kept in check because she liked money (and the sweets it could buy) more than she liked hurting others. Today, she was helping pin Jeremy to the glass of his display case by sitting on his back and digging her favorite shiv into the soft part to the side of his throat. Tim and Tom, the two other junior members of the crew, were pinning his hands to the side. Our leader Oliver was overseeing the whole affair while keeping a lookout. While his greater muscle might have been useful, Jeremy was on the small side so his presence was really not needed, and I appreciated the opportunity to show off my usefulness.

"Now, now Jenny. I'm sure Mr. Biggins is very sorry. In fact, he's so sorry he's going to give us _double_, just in case he made any other mistakes before."

The thought of parting with fifty pounds seemed enough to give him some courage. "Ya... ya can't do this to me! McClane'll hear of this! He'll sell ya bitches to the opium dens and toss the rest of ya in the Thames! Ya'll spend the rest of yer life spreading your cu-" His bravado cut off with a shrill squeal as I stabbed my knife into the base of his right pinky.

I took a subtle breath and brought up my meditative state. The opium dens were a bit of a sore spot. They doubled as whorehouses for those seeking an exotic Asian flavor, and the first thing McClane had said to my face when Oliver introduced us was how much they'd be willing to pay for 'a virgin chink'.

"You know," I said pleasantly as his wails quietened into whimpers, "It's not McClane you need to worry about. You don't even need to worry about us. The folks you should be worrying about is Big Ben, or Bloody Tom. What if _they_ hear of your little mistakes?" Those were the leaders of two other youth gangs operating in McClane's turf, and they both used Biggins. I had no guarantee he was shortchanging them as well, but by the way he paled, my guess was on the mark. Bloody Tom in particular lived up to his name - erratic, violent, and a wanted murderer at sixteen. Rumor had it he was too crazy for McClane to recruit into his permanent staff, which is why he was still out on the streets.

It only took a bit more persuasion before he was gladly giving us the fifty to see us out of the shop. While the others were in a celebratory mood, Oliver looked far from happy. This was understandable, he'd obviously looked up to McClane and had refused to believe the man would cheat us like this. In fact, the only reason we were even confronting Biggins was because I'd essentially gotten the rest of the crew furious at the chicanery to the point they ended up outvoting him. I'd honestly been concerned he'd accuse me of planning a coup and demand my removal, in which case I'd be in trouble as there was no way the gang would side with a relative newcomer over a proven leader. Luckily, he seemed more saddened at McClane's betrayal than angry with me for embarrassing him. Still, I decided to show him I still respected his position. "So, how we splitting the loot? Even splits with double share for you? I mean, he's been cheating you longer than any of us, it's only fair boss."

I could hear grudging agreement from the others, even though we usually split everything perfectly even. A testament to his popularity if there ever was one. Oliver's expression at this looked almost concerned, before he said quite brusquely, "No, we do it evens as always." Then he started walking a bit separate from me as if to end the discussion. Truly, a surprisingly responsible boss for a teenager. I could have done worse.

As we passed around the spoils, it was Tim who spoke up, "So, how do we deal with McClane? He's going to be pissed." Tim was always the most cautious, which is why I liked him.

I glanced at Oliver, and seeing he was staying silent, I decided to speak up. "Easy. Tim, you know Big Ben, right? And Jenny's got a friend in Tom's crew. The two of you get to them and let them know all about how Biggins and McClane has been screwing us, and pass it on to anyone else you think might be interested."

"We're selling them out?" came Oliver's query. He sounded concerned, and I could tell he didn't like the thought of breaking his word. In some ways, he was quite naive, better he realize soon that honor among thieves is a myth.

"Of course we are," I scoffed. "Unless you feel like fighting McClane all on our lonesome, we need him distracted, and this'll do it. And while he's busy with that... how do you lot feel about moving to Solly Street?"

"Solly?" asked Tim, aghast. "That's Murdoch's turf. He's death on outsiders."

Murdoch was something that I would not have believed if I hadn't seen it - a Francois gang boss in the heart of Londinium. And, as far as criminals go, a surprisingly good one. Just for starters, those who paid protection money were actually protected. Trying to rob those under his aegis led to broken bones at best, and at worst, well, there was a reason Murdoch had a reputation as a knife expert. Still, Tim was operating under a misapprehension.

"Murdoch's death on those who cause trouble on his turf. But as long as we do our stuff outside his turf and pay him his due, he'll cover for us from both the bobbies and McClane. And unlike McClane, he only takes a fifth, not a half."

"Sold!" cheered Jenny. "This is perfect, McClane's too chickenshit to tangle with Murdoch!"

It was a bit saddening how quickly these kids agreed to abandon everything they had and move to greener pastures. Still, if they had any family worth the name, they wouldn't be where they are now. As for me, I was actually looking forward to this. The minute I'd realized what a terrible boss McClane was, I'd started seeking alternative options. Murdoch's territory was the best I'd found yet. While his gang was neither the largest nor the richest, I'd actually found people he was technically extorting that would willingly (if grudgingly) speak well of him, and he'd been operating his business for five years without ever once seeing the inside of a jail cell.

Even better, it was clear that Oliver was willing to follow my advice, meaning I was effectively second in command of our gang, small as it was. Under a boss who won't actually cheat us, I was fairly confident I could build up a decent nest egg by the time summer rolled around.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

A\N: I am borrowing some characters from one of my favorite webcomics, Sunset Grill. There is absolutely no need to read the comic to follow this story, but I recommend you do it anyway because it's a great comic. Also, since I know nothing of London in the 1920s, I will be making up local street names and addresses (like Solly).

**Chapter 7**

While the rest of the crew was riding high with money in their pockets, Oliver looked quite downcast. As expected, he realized that we were in quite a bit of trouble if we didn't find ourselves a secure base of operations. Well, better to say _they_ were in a lot of trouble. I, of course, had my illusion spells, and could disappear at a moment's notice. Still, I'd invested more than a month into this crew, making myself invaluable to them and building their confidence to the point they were willing to stand up for themselves. It would mean quite a bit of lost time to start all over again. Which is why I'd waited until I had a plan before moving on Biggins.

Solly Street existed near one of Londinium's many docks. It was far back enough to be away from the chaos and stench, but close enough to get steady traffic from a wide variety of people. It was also ten miles from McClane's normal area of operation, meaning distance alone would help protect us. Our journey there was uneventful, or as uneventful as any journey can be when it includes three overexcited teenagers riding on the famous Londinium Underground - a rare treat, it seemed. But we had money to burn, and implementing my plan today required us to be in a certain place by a certain time.

Sal's Pub was one of the newer establishments on the street, and one of the best examples of the low-end Londinium public house, in that the food was identifiable and the drinks unwatered. It was also what passed as an office for the local gang boss, the man taking a long and leisurely dinner every day between 7 and 10.

My crew trooped in out of the cold night, stamping feet and blowing on fingers. I had to keep from openly grimacing at the stench of wood-smoke, alcohol and tobacco, and the thick haze that hung over the room. Not for the first time, I thanked my short stature which kept my face out of the worst of it. I spotted Murdoch immediately, sitting at the bar with a shepherd's pie and a mug. He spotted us as well, I saw the glint of his eyes in the large mirror behind the bar, but he didn't so much as twitch, seemingly focused on his meal.

Even if I wasn't wary about approaching a career criminal, one does not interrupt a man at dinner and then ask for a favor. However, Murdoch was such a fixture in this place pretty much all the staff was on friendly terms with him. As such, it was simply a matter of occupying a table and waiting for one of the staff to come by and then tipping them enough to arrange an introduction.

As luck would have it, the one to attend us was a girl called Lena. A dark-complexed stocky woman of around 20, and getting her was both good and bad. It was good for my plan since she was the senior waitress and thus far more likely to get us an audience. It was bad for me because she was one of those rare sorts that don't let poverty crush their spirit of generosity. While laudable, it also meant she'd immediately identified me as a runaway when I came by alone to scout the place, and had spent my entire visit discreetly trying to determine if I needed help, a policeman, a bed, or even a job. And, apparently she had a good memory, as when she stopped by her first words were, "Tatsumaki, good to see you again! Who are your friends?"

Yes, Lena had immediately spotted 'Tina' as incompatible with my illusionary ethnicity, and had managed to get my full (fake) name out of me. She pronounced it well, too. Of course, now I had my entire crew staring at me in surprise. I rolled my eyes at them. "Tina's just a nickname, dolts." Turning my attention back to the waitress, I replied, "I'm doing great. This here's my crew, we take care of each other. Oliver there's our boss, and that's Tim, Tom, and Jenny."

Lena had very expressive eyebrows, one of which she now raised at me. "Your crew, huh?"

"Yep! Speaking of, Oli wanted to talk to you about something."

She turned towards our fearless leader with a smile and an inquiring look. She had a nice smile. Oliver obviously noticed given how he seemed momentarily tongue-tied. I had to struggle not to groan aloud. What a time for his teenage hormones to kick in! Reaching across, I jabbed a knuckle into his ribs. That startled him out of his daze and got him talking business. I did notice though that he babbled a bit and gave her an entire pound note as a tip. Now I had to roll my eyes, a few shillings would have been more than sufficient. Judging by Lena's amusement she'd noticed as well. Credit to her, she did nothing to encourage the poor sod, instead taking our orders professionally before moving on. As we had our dinner, I noticed Lena stop by and banter with Murdoch. She must have passed on our message, because his eyes once more found our table in the mirror before turning back to his drink.

It was as we were finishing our own meals (positively delicious when compared to Imperial K-brot) that the gang boss wandered over and sat down at our table. He wasn't a big man, actually being the some inches shorter than Oliver, but he held himself with undeniable menace. He looked us over with a cold gaze before stating in accented Albish, "You know who I am." As we variously nodded or muttered assent, he continued staring at us. I knew what he was doing of course, trying to pressure us into giving something away. It didn't bother me in the slightest, as Imperial interrogators, no matter how incompetent, were far more intimidating that any gang boss. Alas, none of my comrades had my training. An oversight I'd have to correct, as Oliver cracked inside a minute and soon was giving Murdoch chapter and verse about our circumstances.

The negotiations ultimately could have gone worse. Since there was a possibility of trouble following on our heels, Murdoch squeezed twenty out of us as 'insurance'. Once that little dominance play was over, he became far more helpful. I suppose you couldn't organize anything, even crime, without rules, and Murdoch had quite a few of them. No crime at all along the road between the Pub and Tilbury Docks. In certain areas, only muggings and pickpocketing was acceptable, no going after businesses or residences. In other areas, we could commit burglary and robbery if we wanted to, but only with his permission. Absolutely no sexual violence or murder in any area he claimed, and if we did it outside, we couldn't rely on his protection. And of course, how much we could expect to pay for his protection.

He was also forthcoming with useful information. Where we could find a cheap bed, which pawnbrokers practiced selective blindness, which of his subordinates specialized in certain types of business in case we wanted expert advice (for a fee). In fact, he was so helpful that it made me suspicious. It took a few minutes, but I eventually figured out his game. He was subtly trying to break us up. All his helpful advice played up the fact that the various members of the crew had different interests and temperaments. Cautious Tim was offered the low risk option of being a runner. Tom and Jenny were pointed to a woman who ran Murdoch's thieves. And Oliver had dangled in front of him the chance to get involved in the gang proper, once he'd proven himself.

I couldn't blame the man. A unified gang, even of teenagers, could create a challenge to his control of the area. Offering us diverging opportunities gave him a chance to separate us and slowly supplant our loyalties. I guess there was a reason he'd held on to his turf for so long. After thinking about it, I decided to help him along. Since he seemed willing to shelter us, there was no need to jeopardize that by triggering his paranoia. In the end, I didn't care if I had my own crew or not as long as I could continue working towards getting my new identity and some decent savings. Plus, being on my own meant less chances for my true identity to be revealed. While maintaining my illusion spell had become as instinctive as flight spells had once been, accidents could still happen. That was why I'd taken the precaution of dyeing my hair black, since my blond locks were my most obvious cosmetic feature.

As such, when he turned his attention to me and asked if I'd like to join the thieves, I gave him my most professional smile. "There's very little I can't do, with a little practice. I'm up for anything. In fact..." I broke off as a thought came to me. Looking around, I spotted my target and gave a call, "Lena, that job you offered me, is it still available?"

Lena turned towards me with surprise, "Yeah. You want it?"

"Well, since I'll be moving nearby, why not?"

"It's only part-time, though."

"Its fine, every little bit helps."

"Alright, then you can start tomorrow at six."

Nodding in satisfaction, I turned back to puzzled looks from the others. "What's with the looks? You lot have been outside, haven't you?" I asked, waving a hand at an iced-over window. "This way I get to spend most of the evening in a warm pub, and get paid for it."

There was some good-natured grumbling at this from the others. I could see some of them were already thinking if they could get jobs to keep them out of the cold. I wasn't all that enthused about a job in the service industry but since I didn't expect to conduct much criminal activity after sundown (ironically enough), I could afford to waste it holding down a minimum wage job.

As the five of us were leaving to go find someplace to lay our heads, Murdoch held me back. His words were quiet, but clear. "This is a good place. Sal is good people. You do _not_ cause trouble here, you hear?"

"Don't worry Mr. Murdoch," I replied confidently. "Your rules were very clear. I don't shit where I eat."

* * *

**January 2, 1926, Berun**

The contrast was startling. This time last year, the office had been bustling. Tempers running short as people running on too much booze and coffee worked hard to keep the Francois at bay while taking the fight to the Legadonians. People wishing each other a happy new year were doing it ironically.

Now, half the offices weren't even occupied as people extended their Solstice vacations or slept off hangovers. It was as if the chaos and fear of the war had never existed. If any further proof be needed that humanity was but a farce to amuse the gods, Zettour felt there was no need to look further.

Drawing a deep breath, he did his best to dispel his ill humor. After all, an optimist would call this behavior a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. And he needed all the optimism he could get these days.

One upside to the low traffic was that there was no one to remark on the people he was meeting today. Major Ugar from logistics, Colonel Spengler from Personnel, and Colonel Helgen from the Engineering Corps. Officially, they were meeting to oversee the administration and provisioning in the new territories the Empire had acquired. Unofficially, each of them had reason to be deeply disgruntled at the current state of the Empire.

Ugar was the simplest - he deeply admired Major Degurechaff, and was a representative of those who felt the people responsible for her disappearance should be hunted down like dogs, borders be damned, and the Major be welcomed back to the Fatherland with open arms. Simple, understandable, and utterly in opposition to the current policy of cooperation.

Spengler was slightly more complex. He was in charge of recruitment and training of aerial mages. With the incarceration of Major Degurechaff, The Empire's only mage battalion capable of using the Type 97 orb had been rendered unreliable, and the Empire had to scramble for an alternative. Oh, it was perfectly possible for an ordinary aerial mage to use a Type 97, but there was a world of difference between using it and using it _properly_. While Degurechaff had filed full reports on the 203rd's training regimen, all they had was a set of instructions that often seemed illogical, if not outright counterproductive. Apart from the girl herself, the only people who knew the theory and science behind the 203rd's training were her most trusted officers. Faced with having to trust Degurechaff's most vocal partisans with training her replacement, the Empire had instead opted to throw large chunks of their mage corps blindly through the training regimen in the hopes of recreating the 203rd.

Like any sane man, Spengler had objected to that plan, especially once he studied what the training entailed. Like a good soldier, he had gone through with implementing it when his objections were overruled. When the casualties started exceeding the 203rd's total wartime losses, the Empire's High Command followed their newfound fascination with scapegoats and demoted and removed Spengler from his position. And while a demoted Colonel with a fresh black mark on his record might not wield much power, Heinrich von Spengler came from one of Prussia's oldest aristocratic lines. They were not the richest, nor the most powerful, but simply existing in prosperity for 800 years gives you friends in all sorts of places, and Spengler was willing to use that influence to see the Empire's military removed from the hands of politicians that would throw away heroes like used towels.

Helgen's motivation was the most obscure yet. He was the man that had ordered the closure of the Type 95 project, and had stuck by it in spite of the prototype miraculously starting to work. By the time of the Brest disaster, he had already moved on to a completely new department, and had been utterly uninvolved in any of the ensuing mess. But when word had trickled down to him that the Type 95 project had been secretly restarted with an even bigger budget and Schugel was once more in charge with an unlimited access to personnel, he had gone on the warpath. He remembered the obituaries of brave men lost to that demonic device, the desperate plea of a young girl who was willing to face the front lines rather than live one more day with that instrument of suffering, and as far as he was concerned, anyone trying to replicate that insanity were insane themselves.

What Zettour found the most interesting about these three men were that they were not unique. Rather, they were but a sample of a deep undercurrent of resentment that had sprung up following recent events, not just in the military, but also in the more politically aware sections of the civilian population. The truth is, much of this resentment had absolutely nothing to do with Major Degurechaff, or aerial mages in general. But the way the government had chosen to handle her and the 203rd had helped expose the cracks, some of which had existed since the time of the Holy Roman Empire.

The meeting itself lasted well over an hour. Someone listening in would have found it entirely innocent, and that was because it was. It mostly concerned the movement of personnel to meet the new demands placed on the military. Only someone paying close attention and with access to a General's level of operational information might spot the pattern - the soldiers being moved included large portions of those identified by the government as politically unreliable. Particularly, mages of the former 203rd. They were not moved anywhere sensitive (because that would set off alarms), rather they were moved to the blandest, most boring posts possible. Some might think they were being sidelined. Zettour saw it as being protected. Right now, the Empire was a dangerous place, particularly for a mage closely associated with the Major. In such a situation, 'out of sight, out of mind' was a survival strategy.

Zettour did not consider his actions treason. After all, he was simply protecting valuable military assets from the vicissitudes of politics. And if some of his protectees found themselves in positions that, while unimportant on the surface, might suddenly become extremely important if a few other things were to go wrong elsewhere? Such is the fickle nature of fate.

Zettour had plans. He always had plans, it was literally his job to have all the plans. There was a distinct line between planning and doing. While he was concerned over recent occurrences, it was possible the Kaiser and his court might come to their senses. It was possible the ship of state might right itself and Europe would stabilize after the recent fracas. In such a happy situation, he was certainly not going to upset the cart over personal feelings. But in case drastic action became needed, he would be prepared.

The truth was, the situation was extremely murky. Any significant action would be premature. Things needed time to settle. Just for starters, there was this newly formed organization, the International Police, or 'Interpol' as they were already being called. In the accusations and counter-accusations that had followed Degurechaff's disappearance, the Albish, backed by America and Waldstatten, had managed to put together a proposal for an investigative agency that would track and arrest criminals across international borders, in cooperation with local law enforcement. They were based in Bern, the capital of Waldstatten, and the first case on their docket was the disappearance of Tanya von Degurechaff. The Empire, determined to prove they had nothing to hide, had signed on as well, along with many other countries. Unfortunately, while a decent concept, any organization put together in such a rush would have more teething problems than teeth. Zettour foresaw it becoming one more source of international friction if the right people weren't involved from the beginning.

In such a sea of uncertainty, Zettour was occasionally tempted to find Captain Matheus Weiss, grab him by the throat, and demand to know what exactly Degurechaff was up to. He wouldn't bother questioning Lieutenant Serebryakov, though. Who knew such a sweet looking girl was such an accomplished liar? Truly, Degurechaff had a unique eye for talent. If it hadn't been for the minute guilty expressions on Weiss' face during the debriefing, Zettour might have swallowed whole Serebryakov's protestations of innocence. In spite of his burning curiosity though, he hadn't pressed the matter. Officially, as long as he knew nothing, he didn't have to act on it. Let them keep their secrets. Besides, it was very unlikely Weiss and Serebryakov knew anything important. It was basic operational security, and Degurechaff was always one for the details.

* * *

**February 14, 1926, Tilbury Metropolitan Police Station**

"We call her China Doll." came the gravelly voice of Detective Sinclair.

His superior looked over his notes and said, "But... all we have is a vague description, 'little Chinese girl of ten or twelve', no name, no evidence...what is this crap?"

"That," Sinclair said gravely, "is the only common point between the Markham, Butcher, and Timothy robberies. We've got no clues, no evidence, the only thing we have is people noticing a Chinese girl hanging about the crime scenes before the crimes were committed."

"Before? Not during?"

"Nope. No one ever saw the actual criminals. Only reason people even remembered her is because chinks are rare those parts of town. Personally, I think she's a spy or a lookout for whatever gang is operating in the city. And it is in the city, all three robberies took place in different boroughs. We wouldn't even know it was the same outfit if it wasn't for the girl."

"Bit careless though, using such an unusual lookout."

"Yeah, I think she might be related to one of the actual crooks. I've got people shaking down the Chinese laundries and opium dens. We'll find something. In the meantime, we should see if we can pick her up and sweat her."

"Do you want us to go around arresting every Chinese girl in the city? Because with this description, that's what it will come down to."

"Well, all right, maybe not. But we should still tell our boys to keep an eye out for a Chinese girl hanging around odd places."

* * *

**February 19, 1926, Solly Street**

Jenny, Tom and I were all giving our smuggest grins as Murdoch looked down at the 160 pounds that was his percentage of our latest robbery. When he looked up though, he was less happy and more assessing. "You kids are good, I'll admit. But you need to cool it. I don't care if no one saw you, people are gonna notice street kids with money to burn and word will get round."

Jenny and Tom looked mutinous, but I fully agreed with him. No matter how careful I was, something I hadn't noticed was bound to trip me up. Besides, by this point I had over 700 pounds stashed away in various places. That was enough to last me a couple of years if I was frugal. I'd also finally located a reliable forger, and identified the documents I'd need to get into the US. Come March, I was going to get my ID (with a new face), my ship ticket, and then I was out of here. So, I had no problem reassuring him, "Don't worry, we're going to lay low for now. I feel like we've earned a little vacation."

Honestly, I had been surprised to find myself working alongside Jenny and Tom. While Tim seemed happy doing odd jobs, and Oliver seemed to have no interest in working with me, Jenny and Tom had been more than happy to act as backup for me. And in criminal work, it's always best to work with people you know.

Outside of the usual shoplifting and pickpocketing, we'd carried out six major robberies, each netting us at least a hundred pounds. In each case, we'd targeted cash holdings (my experience with Biggins having soured me on jewelry) of businesses far away from our home, and preferably on the questionable side of the law.

The trickiest part had always been localizing the cash. It took a good deal of sneaking around to figure out where the cash was kept. Actually breaking in to steal it was something I handled solo, since I had no desire to reveal my magic to anyone. Jenny and Tom simply thought me the world's greatest sneak and lockpick. I'd even had to learn how to pick locks without magic just to sell the charade.

The latest haul had been the richest yet. It turns out in many slums, the gangsters collecting rent are middlemen for someone higher in society. In this case, a Lord of some stripe. And once the cash left the thugs' hands, the security around it went remarkably slack, since breaking into houses is something that just doesn't happen in the 'good' part of town. Well, it happened now. I considered it highly unlikely the crime would even be reported since then the honorable gent would have to explain where several hundred pounds in unaccounted cash came from. Still, better safe than sorry. Impressing on my co-criminals the importance of laying low and not spending all the money, I then went to report in for my shift.

Yes, I still worked part-time at Sal's. While the work was tedious, the company was better than most and I'm not one to turn down free meals. It turned out Lena had ambitions to higher things, and was taking college courses with her earnings, with an ultimate aim to become a chartered accountant. As such, I'd finally found someone with whom I could discuss matters of a more intellectual nature. While I'm normally not one for socializing, after spending all my time surrounded by uneducated thugs I simply had to seek out her company just to restore my own sanity. Of course, I had to make sure I didn't display more knowledge than was reasonable for a very curious and intelligent 12-year-old, but even that was better than the level of discourse I usually had to put up with.

Besides, working there provided a spot of stability to my daily routine. It reminded me that I am at heart a salaryman, and honest pay for honest work was the basis for civilized society. I couldn't wait to put this criminal interlude behind me.

* * *

**February 25, 1926, A Pub in Canning Town, Londinium**

"Her name's some complicated Aki shit, but she goes by Tina. Supposed to work in some pub called Sal's on Solly Street near Tilbury. Get her. No one makes a fool out of me!"

The four disreputable men looked at each other, then their spokesman said, "Your Lordship, are you sure? I mean, saying it was some 12 year old Aki brat that broke into your place and got away clean - that don't make no kind of sense."

"I don't pay you clods to think! But if you must know, the police are already looking for someone of her description. They call her the China Doll. Word is she's part of a crew that's stolen a small fortune over the past couple of months. So we get her, we get whoever she's with, and we teach those scum what it costs to** break into my house**!"

"Ummm... if she's part of a crew, this might be a whole lot harder."

"Do whatever you have to! Don't you people do this for a living? Just get me that little bitch!"

* * *

**February 27, 1926, Amstredam, The Empire**

The young female Imperial military officer wore the uniform markings of Military Intelligence, a badge denoting a trained combat mage, and a Lieutenant's pips. She had stopped at a roadside cafe that served early breakfast, and was enjoying coffee and pastry with her newspaper. Incidentally, another female Lieutenant of the same age in the flying jacket of an active aerial mage was also partaking of breakfast, if much more heartily, in another eatery across the street.

This sight was nothing unusual as both women were regulars in their respective establishments, and often ate at the same time. What no one could tell was that besides the Type 93 orbs they both wore openly on their throats, they both had a civilian-grade orb hidden under their clothes.

The first girl was halfway through her coffee when the mental conversation began.

_"Any news, Elya?"_

_"It's finally happening, Visha. Our first investigators from Interpol. I'm on my way to greet them now."_

_"They're coming to Amstredam?"_

_"They did a brief stop by Londinium first, but yes. I don't know why, but I expect they'll talk to you at some point."_

_"Try to find out, please?"_

_"You know I will. I'm their official liaison after all, they can't keep me out of the loop. But if they're paranoid, they'll try to keep the best bits close to their chests."_

_"Who are they anyway?"_

_"Pair of Americans. A Captain Strong, plus an unnamed assistant."_

_"I see. Well, be careful Elya. We need you where you are."_

_"Don't worry about me. I'm not the one who openly thumbed her nose at the establishment!"_

The conversation was wrapped up soon after, and both women went about their day. Lieutenant Serebryakov went off to her shift patrolling the skies above Amstredam, and the other girl headed for the docks.

About an hour later, the boat from Londinium pulled in, and a pair of uniformed Americans stepped off. The girl stepped forward to greet the older man with an outstretched hand. "Hello there, I'm your liaison to the Imperial Government, First Lieutenant Elya Roth. A pleasure to meet you! You must be Captain Robert Strong."

The Captain was a middle-aged man of a sturdy build with greying red hair and the uniform of a naval commander. He returned the handshake with a smile, "The pleasure is mine. Captain Strong, formerly of US NavInt."

Elya looked past his shoulder to the girl following him. Brown hair in a bob cut, tall for her age which Elya judged to be a bit younger than her own seventeen, filling out nicely and a face that was pretty even when set in a humorless line. _Prettier if she smiled_, Elya idly noted. She also noted uniform markings that, if she was not mistaken, indicated an American aerial mage.

The Captain noticed Elya's interest and waved the girl forward. "This is my able assistant, fellow Interpol investigator, and also if necessary my bodyguard. Ensign Mary Sioux."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

**Chapter 8**

**March 2, 1926, Londinium**

I should have known my bad luck (or Being X) would not have allowed me to smoothly complete my escape to America. While I did not see any obvious signs of divine manipulation, I'm not ruling out the possibility that the wannabe god had learned a bit of subtlety.

The trouble started as I was making my way back to Sal's at around three. Ironically this had been a day completely free of illegal activity on my part. I'd only stepped out to enjoy a walk in the pleasantly cool afternoon. I was just a few blocks away when I noticed I was being followed.

It was a man in his thirties, dark hair, heavy jowls, otherwise unremarkable. Something in his bearing though reminded me of the military. He wasn't being subtle either, the way he was moving it was clear he was angling to catch up to me. Unfortunately for him, I'd spotted him just a bit too early. A quick movement to break line of sight, a moment's camouflage illusion to throw him off, and I was ducking into Solly with him none the wiser. Still, I needed to get off the street in case he proved persistent or called in reinforcements.

It was because of my hurry that I didn't spot the ambush. When I stepped into the pub, two strangers immediately stood up. They didn't look much different from the riffraff that usually populated the pub, but the intent gazes locked on to me and the suggestive hand movements towards their pockets told me all I needed to know.

"You Tina? We want a word -"

I didn't bother hearing him out. I'd already leaped back through the door, but turning around I skidded to a halt as I saw three men covering the street outside the pub. I remembered seeing them loitering as I went in, and cursed myself for not paying more attention. Two of them already had billy clubs out, and the third, a skinny weaselly looking sort, was fingering a revolver tucked into his waistband. Behind me, the two others stepped out of the pub with revolvers pointed at my head. "Nowhere to run, china doll. Now why don't you come quiet-like, we just have some questions for you."

Whether the first man had been official or not, there was no doubt these five were goons even Murdoch would have qualms about hiring. I wanted to scream at them I was Akinese, but now was not the time to indulge my pet peeve, they were clearly here as representatives of one of our less-than-reputable victims. The confidence with which they'd strolled into Murdoch's territory was also disquieting. Whether by luck or planning, they'd showed up at a time when very few of the gang was around. Certainly, none who would be willing to confront five armed men on my behalf. The closest would be Oliver who I noticed ducking around a corner, and the best I could rely on him for would be to run for reinforcements.

With two guns pointed at me, my only chance was to get in close and hope they hesitated to shoot at their own comrades. Channeling a shield strong enough to deflect even a single bullet might very well burn out my orb, and any obvious use of magic would out me completely. There were vanishingly few children my age trained in magic, and none so well known in Albion after all the publicity regarding my escape.

"All right, all right, what's this all about any way?" I asked, doing my best to inject a bit of fear in my voice as I kept my hands in sight.

"Oh you'll see." One of the gunmen from behind moved closer to grab me. I started to ready myself, spinning up my physical enhancement. Wait for the right moment...

"There you are!" The cry of feminine outrage cut right through the tension. _Lena? What the fuck?_

Completely ignoring the naked weapons, Lena marched out of the pub and planted herself between me and my closest assailant. "You are over two hours late for your shift, young lady! Do you know how the dishes have been building up? Get your butt in their right now before I whip it red!"

Even as she delivered her diatribe, she was dragging me out of the encirclement. Unfortunately for her, the second man that came from inside the pub, distinguished by a faded burgundy jacket, grabbed me right out of her hands. At the same time, the first pub-goer (whom I mentally dubbed 'Dead Man') slapped her hard enough to send her to her knees with a "Shut up!"

While her attempted rescue (_I think?_) might have failed, it did have the virtue of completely distracting my attackers. The man who grabbed me had his left hand wrapped around my neck from behind, but the hand holding the gun was stretched out and waving vaguely in Lena's direction. Well, far be it from me to turn down such an invitation. Channeling mage blades through my fingernails, I reached up and plucked the gun from his hand along with a large part of his thumb, and with a minute adjustment, put a bullet in Dead Man's eye.

The sudden report hammered our ears and caused everyone but me to flinch. Burgundy had already been flinching from the pain of losing a finger, and this made him completely lose his grip on me - but I didn't lose my grip on him. Grabbing his hand with my own free one, I ducked and spun, putting him between me and his compatriots. A point blank bullet into his kidneys removed any resistance on his part as I used his my free hand to grip his neck and use him as a shield while I searched for the third gunman. Sure enough, Weaselface had his gun out, and we both started shooting at the same time. He put a bullet into Burgundy, hastening the man's appointment with Being X, and I put two center of mass, knocking him flat. And it was then that I ran out of time.

The closer of the two club-armed men, whom I'd taken to calling Thug 1, had closed in with me and Burgundy. Now his club came around in a vicious arc aimed at my head. I crossed my hands to block the hit. Reinforcement meant only numbing pain instead of broken bones, but I couldn't cancel the momentum. The force knocked the gun from my hands and me off my feet. Even as my back hit the ground, he called out, "Get 'er Kirk!"

Looking to the side, I felt my insides freeze. Thug 2, now known as Kirk, had dropped his club, and was pulling out a gun of his own. He was also less than ten feet from me. I could feel the orb start to heat as I got to my feet. I had no choice but to try and tank his first shot and get within melee range. That's when Lena's voice called out "Stop!" and I saw something truly terrifying - a revolver in the shaking, wavering hands of an untrained civilian.

Lena fired. Everyone flinched. Including Lena, who promptly dropped the gun, slipped, and fell on her ass. And she managed to completely miss a large man less than fifteen feet away. I mentally cursed. I'd managed to draw my knife, but it was not balanced for throwing and knife-throwing was a skill I'd never practiced anyway, and Kirk's gun was back to pointing at me. I was just debating whether to dodge or rush when yet another interruption appeared.

Everyone in the locality had heard of Murdoch's skill with a knife. Now I got to see it for myself, and as with all things hyped, reality was disappointing. While Murdoch knew the basics, I was certain any combat instructor in the Imperial Army could thrash him in a spar. What he did have, however, was speed, coordination, and a complete lack of hesitation in going for the kill. In life-or-death combat, that last bit counts for a lot. He approached from the gunman's blind spot. His first strike knocked the gun aside, and the knife buried itself in Kirk's throat on the backswing. Murdoch even did a little shuffle to the side to dodge the blood spray as he pulled the knife out, and he did it all with as much fuss as cutting up his meat.

Suddenly finding himself outnumbered, Thug 1 did the smart thing and ran for his life. Neither I nor Murdoch were inclined to give chase. Instead, he turned towards Lena with a sardonic tilt to his lips as he waved at a crumpled figure on the ground behind the late Kirk, "Might not be the one you were aiming for, but hey, at least you got one of 'em."

I looked at the man lying on the ground, a gun fallen next to him, and I suddenly felt my throat go dry. "Murdoch," I whispered, "That's not one of them."

Lying there was the man who'd been chasing me earlier. The man I'd suspected of being a policeman. The man who was now staring blankly at me, a bullet hole drilled neatly between his eyes.

* * *

It was an hour later. Murdoch, Lena and I had relocated to a hideout away from Solly while that street drowned under the wave of policemen that had showed up to investigate. Lena looked pale, having thrown up everything in her stomach when she realized what she had done. I wasn't feeling too good myself, for other reasons. _Four days! My ship is leaving in four days, and this happens!_

Murdoch finally broke the silence, addressing Lena, "You can't stay in the country."

"Y-you said they'll think the bobby stumbled into a gang shootout."

"They'll think that at first. But there were too many people around. Sooner or later, someone's gonna talk, and then they'll be after you. Both of you. Five men dead on the street including an officer, this is huge. Scotland Yard's gonna be going crazy. You both need to get out."

His eyes came to rest on me as he finished speaking. Feeling a response was required, I gave a noncommittal, "Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. When's your boat leave?"

I fought to keep a bland face. "What boat?"

"Now is not the time to fuck with me," came the growl. "You been dealing with Duffy. His specialty is passports and travel papers. You don't use him unless you planning on taking a trip."

In the face of that logic, I had no choice but to capitulate. "Four days. The _Olympic_."

"America. Good enough. But you'll need a disguise, in four days the police are likely to have your description out."

I hid a grimace. I had indeed planned a disguise, something radically different from my Tatsumaki appearance. Now, though, if Murdoch was going to take an interest in my affairs, I'd have to use one that was believably possible with make-up.

"I'll get Duffy to change the papers and get Lena put in as you guardian."

**"What?"** The cry came from both Lena and I at the same time. Murdoch was unmoved.

"Lena need to get out. With a mess this big, outta town ain't enough, better be out of country. And you're gonna help, girl, 'cos she in this mess on _your_ account."

I bit back protests that I hadn't asked for help - Murdoch was clearly in no mood to listen to reason. However, as I thought about it, I realized this was not as bad as it sounded. Sure, I was annoyed at having to babysit a civilian. But Lena was a steady sort, we were in the same trouble so I could count on her not to betray me, and having a guardian will draw much less attention than a child travelling on her own. Besides, she'd already shown willing to jump in front of a gun for me. Speaking of which... "Lena, why the hell did you jump in like that? You almost got shot!" I barked at the woman.

Murdoch also turned to glare at Lena, clearly agreeing with my question. Lena looked at the both of us, then shrugged. "You're my friend."

It took me a moment to unpack the sheer insanity behind that statement. While I admit I didn't have too many friends, I felt I knew the theory well enough to confidently state that you don't jump in the way of a bullet for a friend. Such deeds lie firmly in the province of lovers, family members, and highly trained bodyguards. Finally I found my voice, and decided that I needed to be brutally honest before she got herself killed and Murdoch mad at me. "Lena, I think of you as a friend as well, but I assure you I would never consider taking a bullet for you."

For some reason, she found this funny. After she got done laughing, she replied, "Well, that's you. But I'd rather do something than stand by and let you get kidnapped or killed or whatever they wanted. And that goes for you too Murdoch. I don't have enough friends that I can afford to let them go without a fight."

I turned to Murdoch for help, only to find him giving me a resigned look. "You see why she need looking after?"

I groaned. Of questionable effect it may have been, but she did take a big risk helping me. As a quid pro quo, escorting her to America and seeing her settled in wasn't asking too much. "All right, fine, we'll go to Duffy and get the new papers straightened out. We'll also need to buy a ticket for her, second class. And figure out a disguise for her."

"Wait, wait, I haven't agreed to this!" interjected Lena.

"Tough," replied Murdoch. "You're going. When I explain things to Sal, he'll wrap you up in a rug and carry you aboard his self." Seeing the stubborn set to her mouth, Murdoch's tone grew softer. "Lena, you stay, you'll be stuck looking over your shoulder for years, maybe forever. You a smart girl, you got big dreams, you can't follow them in a country with an arrest warrant over you head. And if you worried about you family, don't. You know me and Sal won't leave them to hang."

I was observing this conversation with interest. While I knew Lena and Murdoch had a good relationship, this was the first time I'd seen evidence in support of the rumors that it went something deeper than friendship. Of course, if the rumors were true, I expected Lena to refuse to go in some grand romantic gesture. So it was a pleasant surprise when, after thinking it over for a minute, she reluctantly agreed to make the trip. This was good, as long as she could keep hold of that practical streak, finding employment for her in America shouldn't be too difficult.

The rest of the evening was taken up planning. For me and Lena, it was planning our escape. For Murdoch, it was planning retaliation against those who had dared violate his territory so blatantly. I wished him luck, but did not offer any help. This was one mess I wanted no part of.

* * *

**March 3, 1926, Londinium**

"Why you do it, Oliver?"

The cold words pulled the 16-year-old lad up short on the deserted street, and he turned to face the alley the voice came from. A hand-rolled cigarette gleamed in the dark night, briefly illuminating the face of the gang boss of Solly Street. That they were both standing miles outside of his territory did nothing to reduce the aura of menace flowing off the man.

"Mr. Murdoch! Do what, s-sir?"

"You think me a fool, boy? You was seen talking to outsiders. Not my usual business, but them bringing shootings to my street, that make it my business."

"I-I swear sir, this had nothing to do with you or yours. Just, they was offering good money for info on who was doing 'em big robberies, and she wasn't part of your gang so I figured it was all right..."

"And that's it. Just the money? It didn't have nothing to do with how she took over your own crew? Showed herself ten times the man you are?"

The rage stiffening the youth's frame was obvious even in the dark, but Murdoch seemed willing to wait for a verbal response. Eventually, Oliver spoke, anger beading his words, "What would you've done? I took her in when she had nothin', and she took my crew away. I took care of 'em all, but then that little cunt comes along and suddenly they think they can take on all of London! She was gonna get 'em killed, someone had to stop her!"

"Yeah? And instead of taking care of it yourself, you decide to bring in outsiders. On. My. Goddam. Turf."

The ice coating Murdoch's words chilled Oliver's bravado. "Swear to God, Mr. Murdoch, sir, I kept telling 'em trying to grab her on Solly was a bad idea! Warned 'em about you, but they didn't wanna listen! I swear no one else was supposed to get hurt - "

"And yet, civvies got caught up in it, a law man is dead, and I got the fuzz growin' outta my ears." The words cut off Oliver's babbling, and the lad grew even stiffer as he saw Murdoch's hand resting on the knife hilt poking out of his belt.

The tableau stayed frozen for a long moment, then Murdoch's posture relaxed a fraction. "Know what the stupidest part of all this is, boy?" With no answer forthcoming, Murdoch continued, "Tina, she was planning to quit this country all on her own. If you'd just kept your head down for a week, you might had your crew back just like that."

"W-what?!"

"'S true. She was planning on leaving. Still is, in fact. But that don't matter now, do it. You gone and annoyed me. And some other folk more than a mite annoyed, they downright pissed."

"Who a-URK!"

Murdoch watched calmly as Oliver's eyes bulged, pain paralyzing his vocal chords. The boy's agony was brief, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed to the ground, revealing a girl standing behind him with a bloody knife.

Silence reigned for a long moment as the girl reached down to wipe the knife on the boy's clothes before putting it away, then she spoke. "Tina... she really was planning to leave all along, wasn't she?"

"Yeah. Guess she didn't tell you? She always was the cagey sort."

A soft snort came from her. "Three can keep a secret if two are dead. She taught me that. Also taught me how to find the kidneys with a blade." Suddenly, the girl lashed out with a vicious kick into the unresponsive form at her feet. "You stupid Ollie! Couldn't you kept your head down for a little bit! Now you're dead, and for what?" Huffing, the girl bent down and started rifling through the corpse's pockets.

Murdoch walked over to stand by her. "You didn't need kill him. Not much more he could done to hurt us, and if he ever showed his face I'd take care of it."

"You don't let someone sell out one of your own and then let them walk away. You taught me that." The girl stood back up, looking through a billfold, then tossed it to Murdoch with a snort. "Idiot didn't even get paid that well for being a sellout."

Murdoch tossed the money back. "Keep it, and let's git."

It was a few steps away that Murdoch spoke again, "So, Jenny, with both Tina and Lena leaving, Sal's gonna be real shorthanded. I don't suppose you in the job market...?"

* * *

**March 5, 1926, Amstredam, The Empire**

Elya's warnings had proven true. A couple of days after they landed, Captain Strong of Interpol had requested Viktoriya's presence at an 'interview'. That first questioning session on the Major's disappearance had been thorough but polite. Viktoriya had stuck to her story and been allowed to return to her duties with a minimum of fuss.

The next interview, two days after that, had been a lot less friendly. This time Ensign Sioux had been involved, interjecting with random accusations to rattle her while Strong looked for any opportunity to trip her up. Some of the wild theories they threw out to try and shake her had been distressingly close to the truth, but Viktoriya had learned a bit about resisting interrogation from her Major. More importantly, her extremely limited Albish meant they had to use a translator in the form of Elya, which robbed their verbal tactics of much of the impact. Eventually they released her with no result. Unfortunately, according to Elya, Interpol's current budget was large, and they gave enormous leeway to their investigators to enter any country and pursue any investigation. As long as the Empire chose to cooperate, they could keep dragging her in for as many interrogations as they wanted, even if they couldn't officially arrest her without going through the Military Police.

Today's interrogation had been the most acrimonious yet, with threats of long prison sentences making an appearance. This did not upset Viktoriya. In fact her only surprise was that it had taken over three months before anyone tried to seriously challenge her statement of what had happened in Londinium. Both she and Weiss had known they would be prime suspects, being the only members of the 203rd on site that day.

As such, she had done her best not to take anything personally, even when they said some frankly uncalled for things about the Major. However, judging by the death glare she had been getting, the Ensign had taken something very personally indeed. So, when Captain Strong stepped out for a moment, she decided to satisfy her curiosity. "Ensign Sioux, I'm curious, have I done something to offend you personally? You have been looking as if you want to challenge me to a duel at dawn."

As Elya finished translating, the Ensign's face turned red with anger, until finally she could no longer keep her peace. The ensign's furious tone was explained by the words Elya repeated to her - "Nothing much. It's just that your precious Major was the one who _killed my father_."

Viktoriya stared at her for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry, but do you mean directly at her hands or indirectly as a commander? I'm afraid you're going to have to be a bit more specific."

"It was at the battle of Osfjord, December 1924!"

Viktoriya knew she shouldn't tweak the obviously upset girl, but honestly, what was this Ensign thinking? It was war! Everyone was trying to kill everyone else, some would live, some would die. No, her sympathy for such an absurd accusation was decidedly limited. Which was why she put on her sweetest smile and said, "More specific, please."

"He was an aerial mage colonel!"

"More specific."

"How many aerial mage colonels did you kill at Osfjord?!"

"The Legadonian flying coats hid their rank insignia."

"He was in charge of all aerial mage forces! His name was Anson Sioux!"

"They were so disorganized we couldn't tell if anyone was in charge, and we didn't stop to ask their names either."

"Your precious Major had a sub-machine gun in her personal effects that was _looted off his corpse_!"

"Ah! Now I remember! Yes, he was one that actually got pretty close to Major Degurechaff. I remember afterwards I had a difficult time getting his blood out of the Major's flying jacket."

"YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!"

By that scream, magic was building in the room. Both from the girl in front of her, and from Elya in response. Viktoriya didn't activate her own combat orb though. The power emanating from the girl was strong, but completely unformed. If it started organizing into a spell, then she would start to worry. Instead she kept her tone perfectly calm as she replied, "I can assure you, I am not joking. I do remember him, and there is nothing humorous about a man so obviously suicidal. Lieutenant Roth, translate."

Her last comment seemed to pierce the girl's anger. "What do you mean, suicidal?"

"Well, the battle was over, we were withdrawing, and he decides to charge an entire mage battalion all on his own. Completely unsupported. What do you call that but suicidal? You seem to be under a misapprehension though. He didn't die at Osfjord."

"What?"

"Oh, it's true, the Major injured him badly and captured his weapon. But he survived. Showed up six months later off the coast of Francois with some Albish mages trying to ambush us. Poor Lieutenant Grantz still has the scars. That's the battle where your father died."

"Y-you're sure?"

"Absolutely. He spent most of that battle dueling the Major, then when she stabbed him again, instead of trying to retreat he detonated his orb to try and take her out." Viktoriya gave a shrug. "As I said, suicidal."

"And who's fault was it that he was driven to such extremes?" came the snarled reply.

"The Council of Ten? The Kaiser? The King of Albion? As the Major says, politicians start wars, and it's us soldiers who do the killing and dying."

"Major this! Major that! All you 203s are the same, you treat her words as some kind of holy writ!"

Viktoriya had to smile. "We are simply giving her words the respect they deserve."

Ensign Sioux glowered at her for a moment, then replied slowly, emphasizing her words. "Then write this down. We will find her! We WILL bring her to justice! She WILL pay for her crimes! For the good lord God cannot allow a sinner like her to walk free!"

"Ah, I see you are a woman of faith. In my own way, I suppose I am as well."

"Oh? You actually think God is on your side instead? On the side of murderers, killers of women and children?"

Viktoriya looked up, making sure to meet the Ensign's eyes as she put every ounce of conviction she could into her words. "Perhaps God is on our side. Perhaps he is not. Perhaps he does not even exist. It is not _God_ I have faith in Ensign. I have faith in something _much_ more real."

* * *

**March 6, 1926, Southampton, Albion**

Contrary to expectations, the next few days actually seemed to go smoothly. My new identity was that of a Pacific Islander girl named Moana Kane, with my skin darkened significantly to match someone who grew up under the sun. Naturally, a real Pacific Islander might find me off, but again, the lack of a global worldview due to lack of internet and air travel worked in my favor. While I was using my spells to cover me, I'd actually packed all the ingredients to stain my skin the appropriate shade in case Lena got curious about my methods. I'd also pulled a few subtle changes to my facial features that I _thought_ could be done by clever use of make-up. Good thing none who knew me were actual masters of disguise.

Lena, in her guise as my nanny, had gone for a black wig to cover her normal light brown hair. Combined with her naturally dark complexion, and she could definitely sell a tropical background from a distance. The story was that my father had come to America for work, my mother had died of an unfortunate illness, and now I was going to join him. I had a fake letter from my father, and appropriate travel documents, all thanks to the efficient Duffy. Our clothes had also been changed, to the kind of stylish dress that might be seen on the daughter and employee of a successful executive.

On the day before the journey, we took an evening train to Southampton and stayed the night at a hotel. No one looked at us twice, in spite of Murdoch confirming that the police was circulating bulletins containing both our descriptions.

The most danger came when we were actually boarding the ship, with keen-eyed police populating the pier. Luckily, Jenny and some of Murdoch's most trusted subordinates ran interference, distracting those officers that were actually in a position to try and intercept us. Moving steadily, we got aboard and then hid out in our cabins until the ship departed. I know Lena was a bit upset not being able to say goodbye one last time to Murdoch and Sal, but Murdoch was also being mentioned in the police bulletins and Sal was under observation - neither could leave London.

Honestly, I was glad not to have to talk to anyone. Over the last few days Jenny had tried her best to make me feel guilty for not telling her about my plans to leave, and I'd woken up this morning feeling extremely irritable and somewhat ill.

Once the ship was safely under way, I headed for the deck in hopes that the sea breeze would improve my poor humor, Lena accompanying me dutifully. Unfortunately, the bracing air didn't seem to help matters much. My stomach was definitely hurting, was I already getting sea-sick? Then I felt a sticky warmth spreading between my legs, and I realized with horror what was happening.

"Lena", I hissed furiously, "_I'm bleeding!_"

"What? How do you - oh, oh dear. Well, where do you keep your things?"

"I don't have _things_. This is my first! Don't you have any?"

"Yes, but they're all in my size!" We both simultaneously looked at the now-distant shore where existed the nearest shops catering to such needs. "Well," she said with a deep breath. "We'll just have to make do. I'm sure there's something on board we can put to use. This ship has a pretty good infirmary."

Wonderful. This trip was to be five days long. I'd get to deal with my first transatlantic cruise and my first period at the exact same time with no preparation.

_**Curse you Being X!**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**March 22, 1926, A small apartment in New York City, Unified States**

I stood in front of the mirror and studied my reflection. This was the person I used to be. Tall, well-built, male, black hair neatly styled, black eyes, Akinese... no. Not Akinese, but _Japanese_. In a full three-piece Armani that I kept for special occasions.

At my feet rested a barbell weighing almost 45 kilos... no, I was in America now. One hundred _pounds_. Ugh, I really hated the Imperial system. Truly, a testament to irrational stubbornness. I'd hated it during my stay in Londinium, and I hated it now.

Still, it was amusing to see my suit-clad form reach down, and after taking a moment to brace, smoothly life the weight off the ground. As I did it, I kept a careful eye on the illusion in the mirror. Not so much as a flicker. Excellent.

During the fight against the thugs sent against me in Londinium, I'd been so focused on fending them off that I hadn't realized I'd momentarily dropped my disguise. True, I'd re-established it the moment I had things under control, and my precaution of dyeing my hair meant no one had noticed, but the fact remained that in a moment of stress I'd started channeling reinforcement spells through my orb, letting my disguise fall to the wayside.

At the time it had been necessary as a disguise wouldn't help me if I was dead. What bothered me was that I hadn't even noticed doing it. Considering what I was going to be facing today, my parallel casting needed to be flawless. Even when under physical stress, I needed to be able to keep up the illusion while relying on my orbless magic for any other spells. Nothing short of actual life-threatening danger should cause me to drop my illusion. To aid in this, I'd been going through magically reinforced morning exercises for the last week, deliberately stressing my self-reinforcement while keeping up as complex an illusion as I could.

Hopefully, it would be enough for any challenge I might face. Exercises done, I carefully restored the appearance of Moana Kane, collected my backpack, and headed out to the apartment's tiny kitchen/dining area. The smell of fried eggs filled the room, and Lena looked up from the skillet as I came in. She gave me a smile that had definite amusement in it as she asked sweetly, "Good morning, Moana dear! Ready for your first day of school?"

The glare I gave Lena would've had any of the 203rd curling up into an apologetic cringe, but alas, I no longer had my reputation as an ace and my rank as CO backing me. All she did was chuckle and say, "Smile, dear! You don't want your face getting stuck that way."

Grumbling under my breath, I sat down at the table. Lena was having way too much fun with my current situation. In fact, she had been taking inordinate pleasure in treating me like a child ever since she got appointed my guardian thanks to our immigration paperwork. Never mind that I was the one in charge and I had brought several times more funding to our escape than what Murdoch had spared for her. This is why a leader can't afford to show weakness even as part of a strategy - give a rebellious subordinate an inch and they'll take a mile. In this particular case, she was drawing amusement from how, after repeatedly blowing off her suggestions on attending school while in Londinium, I was forced to attend school, however briefly, here in New York.

The whole drama started because of my own need to build a decent resume. At this point in time a high school education, much less college, was a privilege rather than a necessity. So, since we had almost $4000 between the two of us (after converting our pounds), I'd thought of investing some of that into getting a high school certificate. In theory, it should have been easy. Outside of the social studies like American History, I already knew everything that an American high school would offer. Unfortunately, at this point in history the Unified States lacked anything approaching a standardized school-leaving test. That meant I had to go around the various high schools, and try and convince their administration to test me and give me a diploma - maybe with a suitable donation to grease the wheels.

That's when I ran into something that I really should have considered when settling on my current identity - right now, racial discrimination and segregation was alive and well in the Unified States. The minute they saw the non-Caucasian features of Moana Kane, most of the schools immediately starting finding all sorts of excuses not to cooperate. Some were more polite about it than others, but in the end my practical choices boiled down to a poorly funded institution on the borders of the slums calling itself Harlem River Secondary.

Now, given the poverty-stricken nature of the place, you'd think the school administration would be happy to rubber-stamp my diploma for a suitable consideration. Unfortunately, the Principal of this school was cursed with that peculiar combination of idealism and integrity that doesn't actually help anyone. Instead of taking my money and using it to improve the school, he took only a modest amount as administrative expense for testing me and then insisted I attend the remainder of the school year as a senior student to show I could handle a formal educational environment.

What a joke. War College had been far more demanding. At least Lena was able to negotiate my having to attend only twice a week as long as I did all the homework and assignments. The excuse being that on the other days I would be homeschooled. Seeing as how this theoretical homeschooling had allowed a 13-year-old (I'd changed my birthday to February 6 for this identity) to test right into senior year, that officious Principal couldn't really refuse without looking silly.

So here I was, getting ready to attend school for the third time in this life. And unlike OCS and War College, I wouldn't have the structure and discipline of the army to protect me. My memories of high school in my last life were faded, but I still recalled how teenagers would pounce on the strange and unusual like a school of hungry piranha - and I was a 13-year-old Polynesian attending senior year in a high school populated almost exclusively by those of African descent. Even my morning cup of coffee couldn't soothe me. Lena brewed a decent cup, but at times like this I found myself nostalgic for Visha's magic touch with the brewer.

Telling myself I was being irrational, I quickly wrapped up breakfast and got ready to leave for the day. "Lena, what time do you get off shift at the diner?"

"Today I'm closing up, so ten-thirty. I should be home by eleven-thirty."

"I'll be there to escort you. Don't leave without me."

"You don't have to keep doing that, you know."

"Yes, I do. I promised I'd look out for you until you got settled in, and that means escorting you until you find a job that doesn't involve staying out late in the bad part of a strange town."

She didn't argue further, but I admit I had some ulterior motives for being so solicitous of her health. Unless I wanted to go back to being a juvenile delinquent, I needed someone to play the role of guardian, and Lena was convenient. Without her, I might end up in the foster system again, and once was more than enough.

As I was leaving though, she said something else, "You need new clothes."

I glanced down at my sleeves and nodded. "Yes, I'll pick something up when I'm out."

I don't know what it was, all the running around in the Londinium smog or eating something better than army and prison food, but I'd grown quite a bit during the last few months. I was up to 140cm now, which while still short for a girl my age, was no longer in the realm of 'midget'. This was the second time I'd have to replace my wardrobe, and I was too happy about it to begrudge the expense.

* * *

As I had expected, I was very much an object of curiosity at Harlem River. In spite of my best efforts to avoid interaction by hiding behind a history text, I still found myself in the center of a group of curious teenagers at lunch. Knowing that deliberately ignoring them might turn them malicious, I forced myself to interact with them politely and not roll my eyes at the idiocy of some of their questions.

Eventually they turned to their own conversation and I could go back to my book, but then the topic of aerial mages came up and I found myself listening in. And then I heard something that forced me to interject.

"Wait, you mean _none _of you have been tested for mage potential?"

"Naw, they only bother testing the white boys in their fancy schools up in the better parts of town. Why, you been tested?" asked Jake, an excitable skinny junior.

"In Europe it's pretty much mandatory. I'm not one myself, but I knew this girl who got measured a C-rank."

"Really? Cool! Did she get to be one o' them flying aces?"

This time I did roll my eyes. "Flying takes B-rank and above. A C-rank could become a magical doctor or engineer, but I don't know if it's worth the bother. Plenty of jobs even without magic."

"Maybe if you're a white boy," growled Solomon. A rangy six-foot senior, he seemed to be constantly upset at the social injustice he labored under. If he'd been born a few decades later, I had no doubt he'd end up in the Civil Rights movement.

"Well, maybe you could get tested? Mages are rare enough that if you are one, I doubt they'll look too closely at your skin," I pointed out.

He snorted. "Sure. Great idea. I'll get right on that. Got thirty bucks I can borrow?"

The conversation turned to other things after that, but I couldn't help chew over what I'd learned. Free government testing for mage potential was only provided to those with the right skin color and from the right part of town. Anyone else would have to spend cash, which given the rarity of mage potential meant blowing money on an extremely expensive lottery ticket. Frankly, the situation was absurd. I didn't know how many blacks there were in America, but there had to be enough to get at least a handful of aerial mages, and maybe hundreds of C-rank mages. And yet the US government ignored them! I couldn't but shake my head at this typical American extravagance. True, with their wealth and population they didn't need the few extra aerial mages the black population could provide, but I wondered how many potential Vishas (or me) they were ignoring like this.

Still, it was not my concern. I'd been honest when I said I wasn't sure if I would bother going into a magical line of work. What I wanted was a safe steady job, and if I could get it in the non-magical fields, that was one more thing protecting me from all the people looking for Tanya von Degurechaff.

* * *

**March 25, 1926**

It was a few days later that late evening found me wandering the New York port area. Lena was once more working late, and I was on the streets looking for inspiration. The problem was the Great Depression. While I had no idea if the forces that had caused the Depression in my past life were still in play, I couldn't rule it out. That meant if I wanted safe, steady employment, I needed to get into a line of work that was recession-proof. Unfortunately, from what I remembered, just about all parts of American life - industry, agriculture, trade - had been hit hard by the Depression. The best I could hope for was some job in a service industry of some kind, then hope I got high enough up the ladder to not be laid off when the next recession hit.

I sighed and looked around. The night was dark, but I could still hear the sounds of trade being carried out. It was a reminder to me not to get ahead of myself. With any luck, the Great Depression was still years off, assuming it would even happen. I should have more than enough time to establish myself and make myself invaluable to the captains of industry. Instead of wallowing in what-ifs, I should keep an eye out for opportunities.

Thus enthused, I decided to head towards where I could hear the faint sounds of goods being moved. It didn't matter what they were doing, I was going to offer my services and try and get a job for the few hours I had left until I had to go pick up Lena. They'd most likely turn me down, but I had to get back into the habits of job-hunting and now was as good a time as any.

I headed towards the warehouse where the sounds were emanating from. I spotted a man that looked to be standing guard outside. As I approached, I decided to increase the odds of getting hired. My Polynesian persona was replaced by another face I'd been working on. Red hair, green eyes, freckles, and looking closer to fifteen than thirteen. I'd have loved to present myself as an adult, but even fifteen was pushing it with my non-existent height. At least I won't be fighting against my skin color when I presented myself to my potential employer.

I had just gotten close enough that the guard seemed ready to challenge me when the sound of an approaching motor vehicle broke on the scene. The car - an aging Ford Model T - pulled up next to the warehouse, and five gun-waving men piled out.

At first I thought I was witnessing a police raid, but the way the lead gunman clubbed the guard to the ground and confiscated his weapon without so much as a word proved me wrong. A policeman would have certainly identified himself as such. Just my luck, I'd stumbled on what looked like an armed robbery in progress. Four of the five men rushed into the open warehouse, while the fifth took guard. I was just sidling off when the guard spotted me and screamed, "Stop there!" while waving his pistol in my general direction.

I immediately obeyed. With any luck, they'd prove reasonable and would let me walk away once they realized I had nothing to do with any of this. A voice came from within over the sounds of people in pain. "What is it?"

"Some ginger bitch right out here!"

"Yeah? What she doing?"

"Not much." He looked me up and down. "Nice looker though. Think they ordered entertainment?"

An ugly laugh came from within. "Bring her in. If she cute we might just show her a good time after we done here."

So. Not just robbers, but also kidnappers and potential rapists. That simplified my decision enormously.

When the gunman beckoned me forward, I obeyed slowly. When I got close, as I expected, he reached out to grab me. I didn't slow down. Instead, I took one large step forward, getting within his guard. As expected, he instinctively jabbed his gun at me. That's when I brought my hands down, one hand grabbing the barrel and the other his wrist, and I twisted. In one smooth motion, I'd disarmed the man and had left him staring down at his own gun. At this point I'd normally demand surrender but there were four others to deal with. So I shot him in the heart.

The shot told me quite a bit. I'd already noticed I was holding a semi-automatic. The recoil told me it had a powerful cartridge, and the smooth way it cycled told me it was in good condition. Semi-autos of this time held anywhere from 7 to 10 rounds, but judging by its size and the recoil I'd better err on the side of the minimum. That meant I had six rounds to deal with four opponents. Tricky, but doable. Smiling, I brought up my reflex enhancement.

Fortunately for me, from where I was standing I could see all four of the robbers. Two had been busy beating up the workers, while the other two had been covering them. Now, all four were turning towards me, but they were still lined side by side like a shooting gallery. One of the men was armed with an iconic tommy-gun, so I shot him first, as close to his heart and lungs as I could make it. He crumpled. The second man who'd been covering the workers had almost drawn a bead on me when he met a similar fate.

This left the two who had been laying into the workers. One was just staring, horrified. The other started bringing his revolver around, but he really gave me way too much time. Enough for me to line up and deliver a headshot. Then I had to hurriedly bring the gun around to my first victim. In spite of what had to be a debilitating wound, he had gotten to his knees and was bringing his submachine gun around for another go, so I shot him in the head as well. A string of gunshots shattered the night as his fingers squeezed on the trigger of his weapon in his death throes. Luckily the bullets came nowhere near me or the workers.

As the echoes faded, I took stock. At least two bullets left, no enemies active. Two were bleeding out, two had sustained headshots and most likely already dead, and one was frozen sufficiently stiff that I could mark it as a surrender.

While I initially had no intention of getting involved, now that I had, I should reap what benefits I can. Introducing myself to the people I rescued and cashing in on their gratitude seemed like a good start. "Evening all. Everyone all right here?"

"Uh... yeah. Who're you?" The response came after a long moment of silence from a man in the back of the warehouse. Stepping around from the rows of casks populating the space, he was a well-built man of almost six feet with what in the dim light from the warehouse lamp looked like curly brown hair and a thick mustache.

"Jenny," I shot back with the first name that came to my head. "And you are."

"Will Brady," came the response. "I take it you ain't one of Lucy's boys?"

I assumed 'Lucy' was a nickname for whoever had sent the thugs. I decided to inject a bit of humor into the proceedings as I closed into conversational range. "Do I look like a boy to you?"

Before he could answer, I snapped my gun up, pointing at the last standing robber. He froze along with the rest of the warehouse. I gave him my absolute best glare as I growled, "You do not move a goddamn muscle until I tell you, you got that?"

The man, who had before seemed on the verge of doing something clever, froze up stiff as a statue except for his head which nodded frantically. Satisfied, I turned back to Brady.

"We really need to clear this mess up. Can someone sit on this joker? How long until the cops get here?"

I observed as several of the people grabbed the survivor and dragged him outside, presumably to wait for the law. Then I turned back as Brady spoke, "The cops? Hah, don't worry. They know not to poke their noses here tonight. Even with the gunshots, we got an hour, easy."

Strange, he seemed almost pleased about that. I put it down to the adventurous American spirit that saw virtue in doing dangerous things just because it was dangerous. Seriously, trying to move valuable cargo at night in a location with no police presence? I ended up giving voice to my incredulity, "And what would you have done if I hadn't been here?"

There was no answer. Scoffing, I looked around at all the casks no doubt containing valuable goods, and I said, "Seriously, is it like this all over? No police for miles around?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Good grief. And all you have is one incompetent guard with a gun. It's a miracle every one of your shipments don't get robbed. You really need to invest in some professional security."

"What, like you?"

I opened my mouth to answer in the negative, then I froze. My brain went into overdrive as I dropped as much magic as I could into reflex enhancement to give myself time to think. This was it. This was the opportunity I'd been looking for. A job as a security specialist was much closer to my core competency that almost anything else. And here was an entire swath of territory where police response was low, crime was high, and business was thriving. An ideal place for a security specialist to make hay. But I couldn't admit I was working on my own. No one would take a teenager like me seriously, not unless I was part of something bigger.

"Not just me, Mr. Brady. Rather, people like me. I failed to mention, but I'm a senior agent for Velvet and Iron Protection, premiere security specialists. Our people include ex-military, veteran law enforcement, and other exceptional talents such as yours truly. I was sent down here to see if I could do a bit of advertising for our services." I looked around at the dead and bleeding assailants, then back to Brady with a raised eyebrow. "Good enough?"

Brady scowled. "So, what? We pay you to 'protect' us?"

He almost made 'protect' sound like a dirty word. I guess his pride was still hurting that he needed protection at all. I couldn't back down now, though. So I shrugged. "Our services are purely voluntary, Mr. Brady. If you don't want us, we won't force ourselves on you. I'm sure there are other customers out there."

His scowl deepened even further. Chewing on his mustache for a moment, he snarled, "Fine. How much?"

Damn it, this was moving too fast, but I couldn't stop now. How much would be appropriate? Daily wages was between 7 and 15 dollars. $10 seemed appropriate. Multiply by 25, add a bit for expenses... "$400 a month, per agent. That entitles you to protection of up to 8 hours a day, any day of the week, at times of your choosing. More hours or agents will cost more."

Brady pondered this, then said, "So we owe you $400? Alright, that works." Then he began reaching for his wallet.

I smiled at this display of honesty and said, "No need for that. We'll just bill you at the end of the month. And since it's already the 25th, you'll only be billed for the seven days."

"What, really?"

"Of course. What sort of charlatans do you take us for? We are _professionals!_" I snarled, annoyed he would question my integrity.

"Right, right! Got it, absolute pros at this business, sorry if I suggested otherwise!" came the somewhat frantic response. Good, he got the message.

The next few minutes was spend hashing out my new work schedule. Thankfully, he only asked for the one agent. I had no idea what I'd have done if he asked for more than one guard. I offered to stick around and make a statement to the police, since I was confident of being let go as a case of self-defense. However, Brady insisted he could 'deal with the cops' on his own and I was not to bother myself.

Since I did have Lena to pick up from her work, I didn't fight too hard, making myself scarce as the sirens sounded.

I idly wondered what exactly had been in the casks Brady had been moving, then decided against thinking about it further. Velvet and Iron Protection would not break the confidentiality of their clients. I had much bigger problems to contend with. Like how I was going to explain all this to Lena. And where I was going to find more agents from.

* * *

"Velvet and Irons Protection? And they want you as a messenger girl?" asked Lena as we sat around our little dining table.

"Pretty much." I confirmed to Lena. "So I'll be travelling around the city quite a bit. They also want me to keep an eye out for any useful muscle they can hire, since they're expanding right now."

"Really?" The skepticism in her tone was clear. "'Cos I don't know if you can find mages out on the street like that."

I blinked. "Who said anything about mages?"

"Well I figured that's the kind of muscle you'd be most useful for finding, seeing as you're one yourself."

I felt my stomach fall into my shoes. "Who said I was a mage?"

Lean gave me a flat look. "Remember how you freaked out when you first bled?"

"Yes...?"

"You trashed your room looking for something you could use. When I tidied up after... well, I know a computation jewel when I see one. Benefits of going to University."

Shit! My spare orb! I can't believe I'd gotten so careless as to leave it out where someone else could find it! What do I do?

"Relax. I don't care who you are or what you did before. Like I told you, you're my friend. I don't leave friends out to dry."

"Oh... so you know who I am?"

"Can't be two kids your age that know enough magic to need a jewel. Though you gotta tell me how you managed to learn enough Akinese to pass yourself off as one."

"Long story..." I muttered, sitting down heavily. I couldn't believe it. I'd blown my own cover weeks ago, yet nothing bad had happened because of it. That made no sense. My life just didn't get that convenient! One thing was for sure, I had to be much more cautious going forward. "So, it really doesn't bother you? About me?"

"It might have before we met. But then I got months to get to know you. You're crazy, you're dangerous, but you look out for your friends and you keep your promises. Besides," and here she suddenly laughed. "I remember reading about that amazing rant you gave on the Kingdom's foreign policy. I figure half the reason they went after you is to shut you up."

I started breathing easier. Everything about Lena sounded sincere. It sounded like I wouldn't have to go on the run after murdering my guardian just yet. No, killing Lena is a bad idea all round. That would have drawn immediate attention. If I do have to leave her behind, I'd have to try and intimidate or bribe her into silence first.

Lena was speaking again. "I honestly didn't mind leaving it alone. But this whole Velvet Iron thing is beginning to sound like trouble, and I remember what happened the last time you brought trouble to my doorstep. So, tell me what you're really up to?"

That stung. Did she really take me for some kind of career criminal? "All right, so I may have decided to found Velvet and Irons instead of getting hired by them. It's still a perfectly legitimate enterprise! We're going to provide protection and security to those who pay for it. Starting with the dock and warehouse areas north of here."

She stared at me. "You're going to be providing protection... to the businesses in _that _part of the city."

"It's the best place. They really need some kind of professional security, it takes the police literally hours to respond to trouble there."

"And you found this out, how?"

I waved that question aside. Telling her I got caught up in an armed robbery might just let her decide hanging around with me was too risky. "The point is, there is a need and I'm going to fulfill it. But I need employees to really get this off the ground. And not just mages, though it'll be amazing if I can recruit a few. Even regular guards will work just fine, if they have the right training."

"And where are they getting this training from?"

"Why, from me! It might not have been mentioned during my trial, but I was the one who trained the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion. Trust me, I know how to train and motivate employees."

"Oh, I know that all right. I've met Red Jenny."

"Yes, good example! She was so much more effective after I got done with her! So that's what I'll be doing. Finding talent, training them, arming them, and expanding the company's protection services to whoever will pay for it."

"And you're sure this is actually legal?"

I wish Lena would stop using that skeptical tone, but I couldn't really blame her. All her previous experience with me had been as the head of a gang of juvenile delinquents. "Well, if you're so worried, you can just come work for me."

"Me? Doing what?"

"You've got training as an accountant. I'll need someone to keep track of business expenses and invoices, and make sure the taxes get paid on time." Plus, if I give her a stake in my success, it'll make it that much harder for her to change her mind about not selling me out.

"You're going to pay your taxes?"

"Well, maybe not me personally seeing as how I'm officially a child. But my company, certainly. Last thing we need is the government coming after us for tax evasion."

"Oh yes, that is absolutely the last thing we need." Why was there a sarcastic lilt to her words? "You know what? Fuck it, fine. I'll do it. Someone's gotta keep an eye out on you, or you just might end up blowing up New York."

"One time! That was one time! And they were shooting at me! And it was by accident!"

"That is not nearly as reassuring as you think."

"That's rich coming from someone who's best friends with mob bosses and jumps in front of loaded weapons."

"Which is the only reason I didn't jump off the boat screaming when I figured out who you were."

"Very funny. I hope you're a better accountant than you are a comedian..."

_A\N: Some very important setup and relationship stuff in the chapter. Comment, would you kindly?_


	10. Chapter 10

_A\N: A bit later than I hoped. Among other things that distracted me, there is this most excellent post-war Youjo Senki fic I found on AO3: __Amor Enim Vult__. Tanya x Visha romance, with some serious plot on how Tanya works in and influences the post-war Empire._

**Chapter 10**

**April 28, 1926, New York**

I could feel a throbbing ache on the side of my face. I could taste blood on my lips. Every breath sent a dull ache through my bruised ribs. Exhaustion was turning my arms and legs into lead weights, and I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and gasp for air. Circumstances were not so kind as to allow me such respite.

Before me stood a figure straight out of a slasher movie. Well over six feet of pure muscle clad in dark blue military fatigues. The figure wore a steel helmet and quality steel-knuckled gloves - punishing damage combined with manual dexterity, and no chance of leaving fingerprints when they were done. Their face was concealed by a balaclava and a jet black leather mask, the eyes two dark unfeeling pits. The man carried no weapons. He needed none. His every movement carried with it the promise of destruction most primitive and painful. As he moved, his steel-toed boots seemed to almost dance across the concrete floor. If my opponent had been a muscle-bound thug then I might have dealt with him already. But it was not his strength I feared - though he was _much _stronger than me no matter how much I reinforced myself. It was not his speed that was giving me so much difficulty - although it was _completely unfair _that a man that big could match me at my current fastest. What was really driving me to despair was our difference in skill. My sum total of close quarters ability amounted to a few weeks of basic training and few brutal but brief experiences. My opponent, on the other hand, was someone who had clearly dedicated a large portion of his life to the art of pulverizing his fellow human beings with his bare hands.

Early on, I had one advantage - my opponent was clearly trained in boxing and used to fighting full-grown men. My lack of height and his lack of low guard had given me a few openings. Unfortunately, he was a very fast learner. A couple of painful experiences was all it took for him to cover this weakness. At least I'd forced him into a more cautious approach, but all that meant was that he was dismantling me slowly instead of quickly. At least his boxing instincts meant he was slow to exploit grappling opportunities. If he'd been trained in wrestling as well as boxing? He would have already ended me.

The worst part was, I couldn't even blame Being X for my plight. It had been my idea to start a private security firm. To pit my military training and experience against the New York underworld. And this was the direct result. My current situation was even worse than back in the war. At least back then I and the 203rd had enjoyed an edge in individual ability, even if we were badly outnumbered. Now, I was both outgunned and outclassed. And unlike the war, retreat wasn't an option.

Well, at least having the odds stacked against me was a familiar feeling. A slight magical nudge took the edge off the pain and left me feeling the adrenaline high. Thus buoyed, I darted back into the fight. Painful experience had taught me not to allow my opponent the offensive - even if I dodged his fists, his superb footwork would see me cornered in no time.

I came in low, aiming for his legs. He responded with a straight kick. Not much power, but enough to fend me off - if it had hit. Instead it passed right through me. My parallel casting ability was the only thing keeping me in this fight, and I used it ruthlessly. Selling my opponent a decoy, I leaped into the air, aiming to knock his head off. Alas, once more my opponent's adaptability came into play. The first time I used a decoy he'd been flummoxed. Now, he didn't even hesitate. Even before the decoy faded, he'd predicted where I was going to be and snapped out a vicious jab. I twisted in midair so it only grazed my cheek instead of breaking my jaw. It still had enough force to knock me to the ground. Landing, I whipped out my leg in a strike aimed at the side of his knee, but a quick hop took him out of my reach. Then it was my turn to leap back as a counter punch almost flattened my nose. The final result - one more bruise to my face and one more hit to my failing stamina. Did I mention this bastard wasn't even breathing hard? Because he wasn't.

Then came the sweetest sound I had ever heard - Lena's dulcet tones calling out, "Time!"

It took every gram of will I possessed not to collapse in relief. Instead I did my best to control my breathing as I stood up straight, and nodded to my erstwhile opponent. "Well done, Agent. Fall in."

Then I took off my own leather mask as I diverted my magic to my disguise illusion, revealing a completely unblemished face. The face I revealed, however, was my own. The only difference was the red hair of my 'Jenny' personality and a few lines making me look older - my face was unfamiliar enough in America to get away with this, and it's not like anyone outside my employees would see it.

Now, I knew this unblemished facade wouldn't fool anybody. They knew I used illusions and that I'd taken hits. I was just hoping the appearance of untouchability was still enough to reinforce my authority. And it needed reinforcement, since I'd been idiot enough to set up a demonstration spar against the single deadliest hand-to-hand fighter among my employees.

Well, to be fair, he was the only one of my employees that could actually keep up with me. That's why I'd picked him, because picking anyone else for this final demonstration would have been bullying. Better a hard fight against a known contender than an obviously easy beatdown.

The big man joined his companions to the side of the makeshift arena (really just an empty spot in a large warehouse). Taking a breath, I turned to face the men and women of Velvet Iron Protection (people kept dropping the 'and', so I did as well).

There were thirteen of them - ten men and three women.

First was Lena - company secretary, accountant, and CEO. She was dressed in sweat-stained loose-fitting clothing. It was my insistence that she join in at least for basic workouts, as that way the employees would respect her more. There may also have been a little bit of revenge involved for her earlier teasing.

The other twelve represented the first field company of V. I. P. All of them were dressed the same - dark blue combat fatigues, steel-reinforced gloves and boots, and a metal tag on the shoulder containing their company ID - 26 for the year, followed by a letter and two numbers, assigned randomly. My sparring partner, C92, had taken off his mask and helmet. None of the others were wearing theirs. Seven of the faces, including both women, bore the color of African descent. Four were Caucasian - two Slavs, two Irish, and one Hispanic.

These were far from the only applications I had received. The offer of $45 a week, raised to $65 after the first year, had proven attractive to many. These were simply the most disciplined.

Much of army training wasn't about the skills of soldiery. They were about discipline. About doing as you were told, when you were told. About not bothering locals or starting fights just because you were bored. About following orders, not matter how tedious or dangerous.

Sadly, I simply didn't have the time to train people up from scratch. I'd already entered an agreement with Brady. I needed warm bodies as fast as possible if I was to build up my operation into something sustainable. So, I focused on people that had a history of reliable work. A few ex-soldiers, but mostly dockhands with no obvious vices and good references that were looking for a change in their line of work. Then, I gathered about thirty of them and put them through a watered-down version of the 203rd's training. These twelve were the ones that were left.

First was my second-in-command, Blake. He'd been an infantry sergeant, very commendable for a black man in this time period, and he'd possessed pretty much all the skills that I might have asked for. It took a bit of doing to get him to take me seriously as his boss, but once I was over that hump, the rest fell into place. Both women had been hired by the same method. They were both tough and surly Amazons that had been working as dockworkers in spite of their gender, and had adjusted remarkably well to my training standards. One of them was even a mage.

Yes, I had been testing for mages. The testing method used by the hospitals was very expensive, partly because it was a method designed to be used by non-mages, and partly due to the precision which gave you a very exact idea as to how much power a mage could wield. My own method was more of a yes/no system using my spare orb, with an educated guess as to power levels using my own experience. At first, I'd contemplated the possibility of testing every single person ignored by the American system in order to build up my own company of mages. However, I'd realized that an undisciplined mage was _much_ more dangerous than an undisciplined civilian. So, I'd only bothered testing people that made my shortlist of candidates. With as small as a pool I'd been working with, I'd been amazed when one of the women had tested as what I judged to be a C-rank mage.

If I had gotten just one mage out of my initial pool of recruits, I'd have considered myself incredibly lucky. Instead, I happened across Barrow.

Barrow was 26-C92, my recent sparring partner, and a B-rank mage at a minimum. The Empire would have snapped him up to their aerial mage battalions in a heartbeat. I'd discovered him at a boxing gym. I'd originally gone to the gym to interview a potential candidate that went nowhere. While I was there, though, something had caught my attention - a young African boxer beating the tar out of his sparring partner. I hadn't sensed any magic coming off him. Yet, after so much experience, I was very familiar with what it looked like when a person reinforced themselves with magic. His strikes were just a bit too smooth, his reflexes just a bit too sharp. The display was far from conclusive, but I was intrigued enough to give him my test, and I ended up snatching the orb out of his hand when he almost destroyed it.

I didn't have the equipment to gauge just how powerful he really was, but he was definitely aerial mage material. Of course, I didn't tell him that. Instead, I simply pointed out how mages of any stripe were not permitted to become professional boxers. Then, once he was done mourning the death of his hopes and dreams, I pointed him towards this new security company that would love to hire someone with his talent and discipline. After all, the best time to persuade someone is when they are mentally defenseless.

Thus, I gathered what would hopefully be the core of the new word in private security, Velvet Iron Protection. They all stood at attention. Looking them over, I said, "Congratulations, you have all just finished your basic training. Before we proceed further, please don your full kit."

I waited a few minutes as they sorted themselves out and lined up again. Now, they had gone from a group of intimidating men and women to a band of monsters. Really, it was the mask that did it. Those things had been bad enough in their original brown color. Once I had them tinted black, they were frightening enough to make me uncomfortable. Who knew American college sporting gear could be so macabre?

The intimidation factor was honestly a nice bonus. Forced as I was to admit, these men and women were rank amateurs. Even the ex-soldiers were mostly grunts. The few weeks I had was barely enough to impart to them the basics of hand-to-hand, knife handling, security protocols, and basic marksmanship. For most of them, the best I could say about their combat skills was that they were more dangerous to the enemy than themselves. In the Imperial Army, they would barely qualify as raw recruits. Thankfully, they would be up against criminals rather than trained soldiers. Their intimidating appearance combined with their gear would hopefully be enough.

Every member of the field company carried basic first aid materials, a hefty nightstick, a combat knife, a Colt M1911 semi-auto pistol and two spare magazines. The two mages also carried two American civilian orbs that I had purchased at considerable expense. Finally, and most vital, each of them carried my best attempt at a ballistic shield. This shield comprised of five sheets of hard steel riveted together to create a slab of quarter-inch-thick armor, with holes drilled through the upper half to act as eye-slits. It won't stop machine gun fire, but it will slow down just about any handgun or submachine-gun round enough to let my agents survive and keep fighting. I'd marketed V.I.P. as having agents that can take on multiple armed gangsters and win, and the only viable way to do that was to make them resistant to gunfire. Even if it meant toting around 50 pounds of steel. Honestly, I couldn't wait until someone invented Kevlar.

While the shield was a necessity to meet my marketing promise, the masks were a necessary evil. The fact was, I was arming people of color. The police in this racist day and age were bound to take a very dim view of that. In order to avoid the inevitable harassment, I had to hide the identity of the people walking around with all that hardware. I'd initially planned to go with balaclavas, but that would leave their face unprotected by anything but thin wool. Then I'd discovered that protective gear for American football included full-face leather helmets. I wondered what quirk of history had led to this world adopting such terrifying gear for amateur sporting events. Still, it was all to my benefit, as these helmets could be easily adapted to provide both facial protection and anonymity to my agents.

Of course, none of my agents would be particularly happy going around looking like horror movie rejects. Luckily, there was an 'official' reason for the masks that was more palatable than 'darkies with guns make cops nervous'.

"Gentlemen. And ladies. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives. Now, you are no longer dockworkers or laborers or soldiers or boxers. You. Are. Velvet. Iron! **Protection!**"

Taking a deep breath, I continued, "We are the last word in private security. When people hire us, they are not paying for rent-a-cops to scare off shoplifters. They are paying for top of the line protection. We are security providing machines! We have the training! We have the equipment! And, most of all, **we have the masks!**"

So saying, I put on my own leather mask, and continued speaking. "This mask is not an affectation. We don't wear it to look scary. We wear it to protect our clients - and ourselves. Think about your training. Your gear. Honestly, what crook in the country can possibly take you on? I'll tell you how. By not going after you. Remember, criminals have no honor. They have no morals. If they can't beat you by force, they'll go after your weak spots. Your friends. Your _family_."

The entire room tensed up at that. Good, now to drive it home. "When a criminal wants to attack another, they're not going to challenge them to a duel at high noon. That shit is for the movies. No, scum like that make a living preying on the weak. _That _is why we wear the mask. When you all are out working, you have **no names**. All you have is a number. All our clients know is a number. All the cops know is a number! All you are. Is. Your. Number. This is to protect yourself. To protect your friends and family. We are going to piss off a whole lot of scumbags, and we will not give them an inch! When the world sees you, they will not see a person. All they will see is Velvet Iron Protection. Remember what the good book says! As I walk through the valley in the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Because I. Am. Velvet. Iron. **And I am the most terrifying thing in that god damned valley! Am I fucking clear?**"

The "Yes Ma'am!" was gratifyingly loud. Of course, that was just their training kicking in. Who knows what they actually thought of that silly speech. Hopefully they will at least take the need for anonymity seriously.

* * *

Over the next couple of months, my new company expanded its business with only a few minor incidents. In that time, the strength of our field agents went from twelve to seventy-two. None of the newcomers were mages, but we did get a relatively high proportion of ex-military.

I, of course, never stopped training my agents. I kept hauling the older batches of agents back for additional training whenever possible. After these two months, the initial batch of twelve had actually reached a level of skill that I considered minimal for our needs. Of course, my agency was supposed to operate in urban environments, and urban combat was an area where my knowledge was mostly theoretical outside of Arenne, but I figured we were at least better than gangbangers, and that's all that was needed.

As an aside, I also got my high school diploma. I no longer needed it, seeing as how I'd made my own employment, but it was nice to have.

I also experimented with expanding our equipment, but that didn't pan out very well. The infamous American Thompson 'tommy-gun' proved unsuited to our needs. While an adequate weapon, it was just too heavy to be fired one-handed while crouching behind a ballistic shield. The only people I ended up issuing it to were myself, Barrow, and the female mage Young. Only with magical reinforcement could one use such a weapon one-handed with any degree of accuracy. What would be ideal for our regular forces would be a tiny machine-pistol of some kind like a micro-Uzi, but such weapons were decades away, so they were stuck with the Colt M1911.

Not that my agents had to use their guns all that much. Thankfully, none of my agents had to deal with an entire squad of armed criminals like I did. There were a few attempts against the businesses under our protection, but a few shots fired from behind shields was enough to see them off. Our clients were more than happy to smooth things over with the cops in such cases, as well as dealing with any injured would-be criminals. There were a couple of attempts to ambush my agents, but again, they acquitted themselves well. Some of them did end up in the hospital, but I covered their medical expenses and then personally demonstrated my displeasure to those responsible, and there were no repeats.

The most remarkable incident during this period was this one Prohibition agent who kept disguising himself as an employee and trying to sneak in without a warrant into various businesses we were guarding, particularly Brady's. His disguises might have fooled others, but I am happy to say that after exposure to my ability with illusions none of my guards were taken in by him. And while I could commend this man's dedication, the law was on my side, and he was most certainly not getting in without a warrant. Last I heard, he'd turned his attention to other parts of the city, and was doing well prosecuting those who would break the American Prohibition against alcohol.

I wished him all the luck in the world, so long as he refrained from harassing my clients.

Our client list had also expanded greatly, stretching from Harlem all the way to Midtown, almost half of Manhattan Island. Some of our clients were like Brady, paying for individual protection. However, a major income source came from what amounted to small business cooperatives. These were basically entire streets of small shops that decided they wanted our protection, and pooled their resources to make it happen. As a result, I had agents patrolling the streets openly instead of hiding in the shadows guarding small businesses. Not that I minded. It might be riskier for my agents, but it was good publicity for the corporation.

Speaking of which, Velvet Iron Protection was now an officially incorporated Limited Liability Corporation, and a wholly owned subsidiary of Manpower Plus Inc., incorporated in Waldstatten.

This last came about due to the laws of establishing legitimate businesses. Doing so in America required all sorts of paperwork to fill. In Waldstatten? All that was needed was a lawyer, a banker, and twenty Wald Francs. Lena took a two-week vacation and went over to Waldstatten to set it all up. One of my fake adult ID's, Jasmine Smith, was registered in Waldstatten as sole owner of Manpower Plus. Manpower Plus, in turn, declared Velvet Iron Protection a wholly owned subsidiary. Being a foreign corporation investing into the US, it was subject to scrutiny that was easier to fool, meaning V.I.P. was incorporated with a minimum of fuss. Lena was officially re-affirmed as CEO. And my original name of Tanya von Degurechaff was registered on V.I.P.'s employee list as a senior consultant, with a salary to match - said salary also payable to a Wald bank account. Because, for whatever reason, the Americans had yet to issue an arrest warrant in my name, and until they did, V.I.P. was within its rights to employ me. Not that anyone would ever find out about it - as a completely privately owned corporation, everything about V.I.P. was confidential without a warrant.

And even if they did find out? I still considered it necessary. The truth was Jasmine Smith, Moana Kane, whatever you call it, all these IDs were fake. All it would take was one careful investigation, and I would lose everything under those names. I needed _something_ that belonged to the person I really was in this life. Waldstatten bank accounts were pretty much untouchable, so even if someone tracked me down and froze all my assets in V.I.P. and elsewhere, I would still have a nest egg built up to fall back on.

And speaking of overseas trips, Lena wasn't the only one crossing the Atlantic. It turned out, she had kept in touch with Murdoch. The gang war that had flared up after the skirmish on Solly Street had turned out to be a lot more complicated than expected, involving nobility of the Allied Kingdom. While Murdoch was still holding, his position had needed a little shoring up. I normally wouldn't have cared, but he was Lena's closest friend, and my old crew had all apparently fallen in with him. So, as a favor to Lena, I had Barrow and three others take a 2-month sojourn to Londinium to train Murdoch's men and act as security for Solly Street. Of course, it wasn't free, but in memory of old friendship I gave Murdoch a hefty discount.

Of course, as Being X would have it, my best warrior Barrow was barely two weeks away when trouble blew up with one of my clients. This particular client, Steven Yu, was a half-Qin half-Akinese who had inherited a 'massage parlor' in Qintown, an extremely successful one. So successful, in fact, that some of the locals didn't appreciate a half-breed taking over the business.

Now, it should be noted here that the Qin population in New York was fairly insular, and minded their own affairs. In the ordinary course of events, Yu should have been able to turn to either the On Leong or the Hip Sing, the two big syndicates catering to New York's Qin population. Unluckily for him, the more genteel On Leong were supporting his rivals, and the Hip Sing were a bunch of thugs that Yu himself objected to on general principle. Bereft of choice, he turned to us, and I, eager to break into a new market, approved of the contract.

Initially, the contract called for two agents. When trouble looked likely, my agents followed protocol and called in reinforcements. The On Leong in turn called in reinforcements of their own. Eventually, someone lost their temper, resulting in two of my agents in intensive care, and four On Leong bully-boys in the morgue, as well as minor damage to my client's establishment.

This was not a tenable state of affairs. If nothing else, the scrutiny from the law was getting uncomfortable. Thankfully, the Hip Sing saw the situation as an opportunity to mount a few raids on On Leong turf, alleviating the pressure on my client. Credit where it was due, Yu moved fast in trying to broker some sort of settlement. Finally, a big meeting was called, and Yu requested a representative from Velvet Iron to accompany him. By this time, the situation had grown convoluted enough that I decided to take a direct hand in the matter.

* * *

**July 10, 1926, Qintown, New York**

It was a hot and humid Saturday afternoon that saw me making my way to the designated meeting place. Since this was supposed to be a formal affair, I'd thrown on a floral kimono. I'd also dusted off my old Tatsumaki Kurosawa persona for my disguise, since I had no interest exposing either Moana or Jenny to the Qin mafia's scrutiny. I was, of course, armed to the teeth, but I did my best to look respectful while doing it.

The meeting place was, what else, but some manner of fancy tea-house. Yu, accompanied by one of my agents, was waiting for me outside. Once I reached them, my agent went back to his duty guarding the massage parlor and I accompanied Yu inside.

The minute I set foot past the threshold, I felt my hackles rise.

A threw out a hand to hold back my client as I looked around. Nothing, except a very confused waitress and some wary guards that had frozen at my unexpected movement. Yet, my instincts could not be denied. Someone was forming a magical formula in my vicinity. It was the oddest spell I had ever felt. The area of effect seemed to encompass the whole building, yet that was impossible since a spell like that would have rung every military scanner on the East Coast. It was almost as if someone had taken a spell worthy of the Type 95, then decided to feed it less energy than I could run through the civilian orb sitting under my clothes. And, instead of collapsing due to lack of power, the spell was continuing to operate, if at a level so low that only someone with my long experience with low-power spells would have picked up on it.

Well, whatever it was, it didn't seem to be doing anything at the moment, so I waved Yu onward.

The negotiations were almost as convoluted as a traditional Japanese tea ceremony. If there was one thing I did not miss about my homeland, it was the excessive formality. I sat to one side, bored out of my mind, struggling to stay alert against treachery, while Yu negotiated a cessation to hostilities. My boredom was further worsened by the whole discussion taking place in Southern Qinese, of which I knew but a few words. Having nothing better to do, I turned my attention back to that strange magical effect I'd felt, and it was then I realized that the spell I'd sensed earlier had gone active.

It was an incredibly subtle thing. It also seemed to affect everyone in the room. Now that it was active, I could feel its structure. It was being powered by... statuary? No, not just statuary. Some statues around the room, yes, but also various charms hanging on the wall, some mirrors, patterns on the wall...

I was wrestling to understand what exactly I was sensing when the whole system flared, accompanied by raised voices in the room. It seemed a particularly acrimonious negotiating point had been reached and both sides seemed on the verge of employing excessive language. Then the spell's power increased, and both sides took a deep breath and stepped back from the brink. Someone suggested something conciliatory, and the discussion returned to its previously amicable tone.

Prima facie, this spell seemed to be promoting goodwill and cooperation. However, my past experience had made me extremely suspicious of any external magic that affected the mind. In this case, my responsibility was clear. My client was paying me to protect him from any threat. A magic influence that affected him without his permission, no matter how benign, was unacceptable. I slammed my palm down on the table, silencing the entire room.

One of the On Leong's representatives swelled up like a bullfrog, and started demanding an explanation. I cut him off with a cold, "My task here is to protect my client, in body and mind. While his body is safe, his mind is not. This entire building is saturated by a mind-affecting effect. Tell me, who is responsible for that, and that, and that..." As I spoke, I pointed accusing fingers at the objects in the room that seemed to carry the strongest concentrations of magic.

Everyone seemed utterly bewildered. That confirmed my suspicion that this was the doing of a third party. Finally, an answer came from the restaurant's proprietor, who had been also been acting as hostess. "Honored guest, I no understand. That is for harmony and..." she broke into a stream of Qinese I could make neither heads nor tails of, but I did pick up one phrase: 'Feng Shui'.

Feng Shui! I couldn't believe it, yet once I thought about it, I supposed it made some kind of sense. That discipline had been the epitome of Eastern superstition, on par with Western belief in magic. So, if magic existed in this world, why wouldn't Feng Shui also be effective?

_Oh shit, if Feng Shui is real, then what about Voodoo? Shamanism? Tantric rituals?_

I ruthlessly stamped down on my incipient panic. Even if they were real, judging by the current example they were hardly going to be able to compete with modern computation jewels. In the meantime, I had a ritual to disrupt and a room to pacify.

"Feng Shui?" I asked rhetorically, my voice as cold as I could make it. "A ritual designed to influence the mind towards peace, and you enacted in a place meant to hold a negotiation. This was meant to be neutral ground. Exactly what about a mind-affecting spell cast without permission makes this _neutral_?"

There was a long moment of silence, then one of the Leong spoke up in accented Albish, "Feng Shui, it is superstition. Surely you not believe it affect us?" The mockery in his tone was clear in spite of his accent. I returned him an equally mocking smile.

"How disappointing, that the brave sons of Qin would cast aside their heritage so easily. I am not even from your shores, yet even we Akitsushimani know better than to ignore the power behind a thousand years of tradition. Still, it matters not. This ritual is violating the sanctity of the mind of my client. I will now remove it." Having delivered a suitably portentous rejoinder, I turned my attention to the closest focusing point of the spell, a wall length mirror.

Placing a hand on the mirror surface, direct physical contact allowed me to confirm what I had already suspected - the various Feng Shui objects were acting as nodes for a very large, very crude spell focus. And if there's one thing I knew about foci, it was that the fastest way to disrupt one was to subject it to more power than it could handle. Turning back to the room, I said with a smile, "This will but take a moment." Then I focused, first to make sure my disguise spell stayed up, then to pour every bit of magic I could into the mirror.

The results were suitably dramatic. The mirror cracked from side to side, a statue of a rooster exploded into shards, an ornamental plant wilted rapidly, and a curtain curled up at the edges as if singed, and one could hear other faint sounds of destruction coming from elsewhere in the building. I wasn't really paying attention. Instead, what had caught my eye was the reaction of one of the two waitresses that had accompanied the hostess. While everyone else was craning their necks to observe the carnage, she had briefly clutched her head and swayed in her spot. _Well, I do believe I've just found my mage._

Before I could act on my newfound knowledge, an enormous, long, booming sound echoed throughout the building. It definitely came from outside, and whatever it was, it had enough power to send vibrations through the entire room. Maybe the entire city. _Shit, was the damn ritual connected to a gas main or something?_ I could feel the eyes of the entire room on me. Not having the slightest clue what had caused the explosive sound, I gave the room my haughtiest stare. "The ritual has been ended. Neutrality is restored. Please submit all claims for damages to those who would enact such rituals on neutral ground without permission."

Oh, there were definitely some hard stares aimed at the proprietor at that. Some flunkies ran out to find what had exploded, and the negotiations resumed, though none of the participants seemed very enthusiastic.

In the end, the peace agreement was made in fairly short order with no further interruptions. I got the distinct feeling everyone had other places to be, and I could sympathize - I was intensely curious as to what had caused that sound as well. Still, I had one more issue to address.

As all the guests left the room, I hung back. Then, once I had attention of the waitress who had caught my eye, I announced: "Her. She is to come to our office tomorrow."

The way the proprietor and the waitress' faces paled, it seemed they both knew why. When the younger woman asked the question, I raised an eyebrow and said, "Why do you think?"

Of course, the real reason was that I wanted to grill her on her spellcasting techniques to see if there was anything I could use, but I couldn't come out and say that, so I kept it vague.

Judging the pleading tone and torrent of broken Albish and Qin the proprietor hurled at me, it seemed the girl was actually someone important to her. How could I get her to understand that I meant the girl no harm?

"Our leader want to talk to her. Will take good care of her. She come, no harm at all. If not..." at this point I was stuck on explaining how if she continued to experiment with magic without properly understanding it, she might cause a great deal of harm. Seeing no other way, I waved a hand at the various destroyed pieces of furniture. Judging by the way their faces paled, they got the message.

"Tomorrow. Here. 11 morning. You come, no harm." I said, smiling, as I passed them a card with my company's office address. Seeing understanding in their eyes, I decided not to waste any more time talking like a tourist. Instead, I headed out to satisfy my own curiosity on what, exactly, had blown up.

It wasn't until next morning that I learned what the explosion had been. Apparently, the Picatinny Arsenal in New Jersey had exploded, killing dozens and damaging property for miles. Exact cause unknown, but the current official theory was a lightning strike on an ammunition stockpile.

But was it natural lightning? Had my disrupting of the Feng Shui ritual caused an explosion in the stockpile, or the lightning strike? The idea seemed absurd, the Arsenal was twenty miles from Qintown, yet I knew too little about Feng Shui to say for certain. And I now remembered that there was a room full of Qin mobsters who believed me responsible. If they blabbed... no, no way would the police believe that. But such wild tales might still draw the wrong kind of attention. Damn it, at this point I could believe Being X had done it just to mess with me.

As a further complication, the waitress, whose name was Changying Lin, showed up at my company office at the appointed time - with full bag, baggage, and luggage. Apparently, she had somehow taken my invitation to an interview as some sort of permanent relationship. The exact relationship she seemed too embarrassed to explain, as she should be, seeing as how her Albish was actually passable and she had no excuse for making such a mistake.

Still, I was loath to send her back, now that I had a chance to pick her brain to my heart's content. Since she was here, I might as well put her on the payroll. Not that I would be getting my money back any time soon. While she might objectively be young and pretty - nineteen years old, very nice skin and hair, symmetrical features - she was also very plainly and obviously an urban civilian. If she was to do what Velvet Iron did, those soft curves would have to be replaced by hard muscle. I could already tell this was going to be a long-term project.

There would be one upside though. There was always a chance she was here as some sort of spy for the On Leong. I would keep her under close observation for the months it would take to get her combat ready. That should be enough time to get to know if she was a traitor or not. And who knows, something might actually come of this Feng Shui nonsense.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

In my past life, I'd been a working professional. My goals and compensation were decided by those above me, and it was up to me to achieve the former if I wished to enjoy the latter. Even during my time in the army, in spite of the danger, the basic formula hadn't changed - fulfill your objectives, get your reward. I'd been a rat running a maze designed by my betters, looking for my piece of cheese. Now I was a rat in the wild, an entrepreneur operating my own business.

It was uncomfortable. To extend the metaphor, at least the rat in the maze knew there would be cheese at the end if he survived long enough. But as a business owner I could do everything right and still fail - even leaving aside my fugitive status. And let's not forget Being X. I'd been well set in my military career, yet he'd found a way to muck that up. How much more fragile a fledgling company?

I had only one advantage - Velvet Iron Protection was _mine_. While Lena might officially be CEO, that translated to taking care of the day to day decision making. I was the one who had final say on our strategy. Before, Being X had taken ruthless advantage of my subordinate position in the military's power structure to constantly maneuver me into dangerous positions. Now he could no longer use my workplace environment against me. Any attempts to interfere would have to come from outside my sphere of influence. Thus, the best way to protect myself was to steadily develop my company into a top-notch service provider with a solid foundation. And eventually, I would realize the dream of every start-up of selling out to a larger conglomerate for a fancy sum of money and retiring to a sunny beach. I was thinking Brasilia.

Still, all that was far in the future. Right now, I had to focus on building Velvet Iron Protection into something that could survive the vicissitudes of the marketplace. In particular, I was wary of the Great Depression. While I didn't remember exactly what had caused the massive stock market collapse that had kicked off the whole mess, I recalled that part of the reason the Depression had hit so hard was because the preceding boom had caused the American economy to expand to unsustainable levels. Well, America's economy was definitely booming now, but I was too unfamiliar with the country to tell if they were past the point of no return or not. However, while I would not call myself an expert in business, I'd had enough exposure to understand the best way to protect a company from external shocks - expansion and diversification. Neither of these things were easy, but they held the key to success and security. I set to work with a will.

My first step to expansion was to expand my operations into Qintown. With the recent humbling of the On Leong, I figured I'd built enough of a reputation to make some inroads. At first things went surprisingly smooth. On Leong affiliates themselves would approach us with recommendations or employment offers. Of course, there was a catch, one which was not long in showing itself. The On Leong was an organization largely formed of business owners. Their biggest rivals the Hip Sing were rooted in the labor unions. All those juicy Qintown contracts coming my way? The majority of them were On Leong affiliates that were finding their profit margins threatened by the Hip Sing. It seemed they'd decided it would be much better to let V. I. P. bleed on their behalf.

The results were not long in showing. Repeated skirmishes and drive-byes became common, and five of my men ended up visiting the hospital in the first month. They gave as good as they got, though, and it should have been enough, but I'd underestimated the tenacity of the Hip Sing. Over twenty of them, armed with pistols, knives, and shotguns, managed to pin down two of my men in an alley. The resulting firefight killed both my agents, but they took six of the enemy with them. The papers called it 'The Battle of Qintown'.

And what was the result of this extremely public fracas? Almost nothing. The cops came around and asked questions and poked around for all of three days. Then they packed up and went home. Even when my own people managed to identify some of the surviving assailants, not one of them was arrested. As Lin explained to me, the police did not care for what happened in Qintown, and the Qintown residents did not care for them.

Faced with such a situation, for the first time, I made the conscious decision to commit a crime without being forced into it. The On Leong had been happy enough to point out several high-ranking Hip Sing members who were at least partly responsible for the attack on my men. I settled on Shun Lee. The man was notorious enough that even the usually aloof police had made the occasional effort in his direction. Best of all, he was currently involved in a multi-sided feud with his own colleagues for influence in the Hip Sing. When he died eight days after the attack on my men, his bodyguards would swear the killer had worn the face of a known thug in the employ of one of Shun's biggest rivals.

I had no doubt that the law would call what I had done murder. But given the situation, I considered it nothing more than preemptive self-defense. Between my illusion magic and the police's apathy towards all things Qintown, I felt far safer doing this than anything I'd been involved with on the Rhine front.

Sure enough, the Hip Sing were quickly embroiled in internal feuding, and I took the opportunity to shore up my presence in Qintown. While I never admitted a thing, it was clear the On Leong were grateful for the reduction in competition as they almost seemed to fall over themselves to give me anything I needed. Well, since they had used me, I felt no qualms about using them. Using their links to the business community I got myself a large unsecured loan at a very reasonable interest rate and a twelve-year maturity date. One could not underestimate the value of such a loan, as it gave me the financial depth needed should the Great Depression blow up at the worst possible time (which, knowing Being X, it would). Cold as it was to admit, it was almost worth the two lives lost. The Empire had certainly sacrificed more lives for less gain during the war. Now that my finances were secured, I could implement several things I'd been putting off.

First was a proper urban combat training center. While I might not know much about the tricks of door-to-door fighting, at least I could give my troops some experience of the terrain with mock-ups of streets, warehouses, shops, and apartments. A large warehouse with modular walls designed to simulate a variety of environments fulfilled this need.

Second, was a proper rapid-response force. So far my agents got around the city using a combination of vans and public transport, but the deaths of my men had underlined the need for quick reinforcement with heavy firepower. A dozen Indian Scout motorcycles for speedy transport and twice that number of Thompson submachine guns would hopefully alleviate the issue.

Part and parcel to the rapid response force, were rapid-response medical and legal teams. While I couldn't afford to run my own hospital, having trained medics to keep injured parties alive until they could get to a proper hospital was another necessity. And while the police might ignore Qintown, I was already seeing hard questions being asked about the heavily armed masked men in the whiter parts of town, so having an in-house lawyer on-call was a superior option to relying on law firms. The lawyer in question was a young public defense attorney named John Riley who had a decent record, but was looking to increase his income to support his new wife, and I was happy to pay well for someone with a proven track record.

Third was instituting regular magical testing of the ignored parts of the population. When I'd first started building Velvet Iron, I'd focused more on experience and discipline than magical talent. It had been blind luck that had led to the three mages in my employ. Now that I had a solid core of disciplined agents to train newcomers, I could focus on this untapped market. As one might expect, the cost of magic testing got much cheaper when you could do it in bulk. A trained nurse, a couple of laborers, and an old testing system was all I needed to start the process in local high schools. Even though I had no intention of hiring anyone below the age of 18, it was still good to build up a list of potential candidates from low-income neighborhoods who would otherwise never be able to afford magical training.

The funny thing is, I didn't even want mages for their combat potential. Once firearms come into play, the difference between a C-rank mage and a trained soldier isn't that big. What I wanted, no, what I needed them for was communications. I never realized this during the war since I always had access to communication spells, but the so-called portable radios of this time were a joke. Massive backpack sized instruments that required a dedicated trooper to carry, and a second trooper to operate if you wanted to talk on the move. Civilian orbs, on the other hand, could handle short-range communications just fine if there was a receiving orb tuned to the incoming signal. In hindsight, it was amazing the Imperial Army didn't enlist C-rank mages en masse just for this tactical advantage. But then, even the weakest mages were too rare to support an entire army. Even I was only hoping for a few in order to cut reaction times for emergencies.

The last major move I made was further expansion - this time, overseas. The best way to survive the Depression would be to get out from under ground zero. I was given a golden opportunity in this regard with the latest set of telegrams from Londinium. It seemed Barrow and his squad had done yeoman's work shoring up Murdoch's position. Murdoch himself was so impressed both by their skill and by Velvet Iron's business model that he'd written to Lena proposing a partnership - he would provide the manpower, funding, facilities, and local knowledge, and Velvet Iron would provide the core cadre and training for a brand new Londinium-based protection service.

That was honestly a pretty good deal. One of the biggest issues I was constantly running into was the lack of local knowledge. Having an expert like Murdoch take the lead was ideal. And considering a move like this would get a dangerous gang boss off the streets and into a legitimate line of work, it was practically my civic duty to take the deal. Of course, I wasn't going to be stupid about it. Just for starters, I couldn't leave Barrow in charge. While a fierce and disciplined fighter, when off-duty Barrow was what Americans called a 'soft touch'. Leaving him in charge would have Murdoch and his crew walking all over him in a matter of days. Instead, I turned to my second in command, Alfred Blake.

The former sergeant had proven himself an adequate second-in-command in these months. While not up to the standard set by Weiss, he was still stolid, reliable, and efficient. I impressed upon him the importance of his task - under no circumstances was Velvet Iron to compromise its standards of training and integrity. I knew Murdoch would pressure him to get boots on the ground as fast as possible. His job was to make sure the agents certified by the new firm were up to the standards we had established in New York. Once he was properly briefed on his role, he left for New York along with a dozen agents who didn't mind moving to Londinium, as well as Lena.

I hated losing Lena, and I wouldn't have let her go at all if I hadn't thought she was sincere when she promised to come back. After all, there was still an arrest warrant out for her in Londinium. To minimize risk, she was going to make the trip as short as possible. Get in, make sure Blake got settled in, and get out. And maybe catch up with her boyfriend (who she insisted wasn't, but she was only fooling herself). All told, she was only going to be gone for three weeks. I could cover for her that long.

Of course, the months leading up to Lena's trip (or should I call it infiltration?) to Londinium wasn't all work. I took some time to have some fun too. I realized I might have a bit of a sadistic streak, considering how much amusement I found in putting a soft city girl like Changying Lin through my version of boot camp. Credit to her, unlike those idiot cadets in Officer School, I never actually had to stick a gun in her face. A few death threats and extra-hard drills was enough to convince her of the virtue of never slacking off or being late. There was just something satisfying about taking soft clay and whipping it into something strong and useful - and if I took more pleasure than I should in the cute sounds of distress she made along the way, well, I never denied having issues of my own.

Now, I didn't just use her as my personal chew toy. When I wasn't training her, she was training me in the art of Feng Shui. I use the word 'art' advisedly, since there was little logic to be found in the exercise. First of all, Lin had never been taught any kind of theory of magic. Her efforts were almost purely by rote, learned from an old book on the subject owned by her family. And when I asked her to replicate her efforts, absolutely nothing happened the first few times. After some close questioning, and some experiments using my own vastly greater power, it turned out the reason I'd seen a noticeable effect at all was because Lin had been doing the exact same ritual, on the same rooms, for going on six years.

Well, I didn't have six years. Now that Lin had modern mage training, she could consciously tap into her magic, but even then we were hardly seeing any effect. Even my greater power was producing barely any result, and pushing it just caused damage to the focusing objects. After playing around with it for a few weeks, I determined that the problem lay in the rituals themselves. A lot of rituals in the books Lin dug up were simply useless - they refused to absorb any power at all. The few rituals that actually seemed to be absorbing power were doing it too slowly for my taste. It was clear these rituals were horrendously inefficient, and needed to be optimized.

That... was an issue. All my spellcrafting experience was rooted in computational orb theory. Even for me orbless spells, I was modifying my prior knowledge. And even here, my specialty lay in the various combat and support spells useful to an aerial mage. Ask me to modify a medical or metalworking spell and I'd be lost. Feng Shui as a system had spell structures that I could hardly recognize, let alone modify. Might as well ask a graphics designer to write the operating system for a vacuum tube mainframe. I hated to admit it, but to create a formalized system for spellcasting using Feng Shui, I needed someone on the caliber of Schugel, and even for him I suspected it would be a long-term project. Still, even if a general theory of Feng Shui was beyond my reach, I and Lin could still tinker with the few spells we knew might work.

It took until after Lena's departure for Londinium before we finally had a breakthrough. We finally managed to move around the right objects to the right places to see a greatly improved rate of power absorption. It was one of the most useful rituals too - a generalized ritual of health and good fortune.

The new and improved ritual took me two hours of careful meditation to power up. For Lin it would have taken two weeks, a couple of hours each day. Once it got going though - well, I knew it was doing something. Further waiting also showed that unlike the spells I was used to, a Feng Shui ritual could keep going for a long time without recharging, and recharging it only took a short daily effort on Lin's part. Now I had to find out what it actually did.

In the spirit of scientific inquiry, I had my agents perform a number of repetitive tasks both in and outside the ritual area. Considering it was supposed to promote good fortune, games of chance like dice or cards surprisingly showed absolutely no effect. Maybe because all the players were within the area of the ritual? However, when it came to things like equipment maintenance and physical exercise, I could feel the ritual stirring. The results, compared to the control group, were small but significant. Equipment repair, would, on average, take less time and give better results. People exercising under the field went for just a little bit longer, and their bodies showed less signs of stress when they were done.

All told, the improvement boiled down to barely three or four percentage points. But as any banker (or gambler) in the world will tell you, every single percent matters. Even if it was the only ritual we could get working in a practical fashion, it was time well spent. Lin and I took a weekend to redecorate and sanctify the main office and primary training facilities. Once I had a few more mages under my employ, I'd extend it to the smaller safehouses, and maybe to the Londinium offices as well. Should I provide it as an optional extra to my clients? That would first require convincing them it worked, which would require revealing the mages in our ranks, and that was something I was trying to keep a low profile on. Something to think about for the future.

I was however, looking forward to seeing Lena's face when she saw the newly decorated offices. It wasn't that they looked bad, in fact the effect was quite harmonious, but it would certainly be startling to someone of Western sensibilities, if the strange looks it got from most of our employees was anything to go by. It would be interesting to hear her thoughts on the matter, and she was due back any day now.

* * *

**November 4, 1926, Londinium, Albion**

Lena raised an imperious eyebrow. In spite of his size, Barrow cringed like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. After letting him squirm for a moment, Lena spoke, "This is the 'promising recruit' you mentioned in your last letter? Really, Barrow?"

"Oi, don't talk as if I ain't here!" broke in the 'promising recruit'.

"Hush Jenny, I'll deal with you later. Well, Barrow? I'm waiting. Isn't she a bit young for you?"

"It ain't that, Miz Brown. It's just that, she been coming for the last two weeks every day for the training. She been really going at it, almost keeping up with the boys now, and I figure she been trying so hard, what it hurt to give her a chance?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because our cutoff is eighteen, and she's what, twelve?"

"Oi, I turn fourteen in a month!"

"Which is not eighteen. Honestly, why would you even encourage her like this, Barrow? You know better..."

"Lena, stop ignoring me! And stop pretending any of this age bullshit, if Tina's a part of this then so am I!"

Lena narrowed her eyes at that, and said sternly, "Tina and I went our separate ways. There's no one of that name in VIP."

"Hah, as if you'd get to be in something like this on yer own! I know all about your Big Boss Jenny. About my height, cute as a button, and a stone cold bitch? Ring any bells? I dunno how she's passing herself off as a redhead and eighteen, or why she stole my goddam name, but there can't be two Tinas running about in the same country! And if she's actually eighteen then I'm a nun!"

"For god's sake, keep your voice down!" Lena hissed furiously while glancing about. "Are you trying to wreck everything? What do you even want?"

"I want to go to New York. I want to work for her again. Murdoch's nice and all, but..." the brash tone actually turned into something almost sad, "If... if she really don't want me around, I want to hear it to my face. Please, Lena?"

Lena rubbed her head for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. Fine! But you keep your lips zipped, got it? As far as the world knows, there's going to be two red-haired Jennys in New York, and no one called Tina. And that goes double for you Barrow! What part of 'only show the mask' did you not get?!"

"Sorry, Miz Brown..."

She gave a sigh. "Jenny, I hope you got your papers in order, and start packing. I'm leaving on the 7th, and I guess you're coming with."

* * *

**November 16, 1926, Amstredam, The Empire**

Two young women sat at opposites ends of a busy restaurant during the dinner rush. Both of them were eating alone, yet neither paid any attention to the food, focused as they were on the conversation no one else could hear.

_"So, Elya, you leave for Londinium next week?"_

_"Yep! After that bitch Mary blew up at you my boss raised enough of a stink that I've been permanently assigned to Strong's little team."_

_"She hates Imperials... so they're going to assign an Imperial to work alongside her?"_

_"Of course, because the Unified States and the Empire are the best of friends! Or, at least, we haven't shot at each other recently, which is probably the best we can get. In the spirit of continuing cooperation between our great nations, the American Interpol team will be joining forces with the Empire. Plus, neither of them are very good with Germanian, and we are chasing a Germanian fugitive. It makes sense if you don't think about it too hard."_

_"Hmph. So you are going to join them in Londinium. They've been there for almost six months though. What have they been doing?"_

_"Beats me. I'm sure I'll find out when I get there. But from what we've heard, they seem to be almost going door to door for anyone with in the city with even the vaguest connection to the Empire, trying to find a clue to the team that snatched the Major."_

_"I see."_

_"You're still not going to tell me what really happened?"_

_"Elya..."_

_"Yeah, yeah, need to know. Well, wish me luck. And keep your head down, things at court are still a bit unsettled I hear."_

_"Don't worry I'll be careful. And all the contact points and dead drops are ready in case you need to pass anything along to me."_

_"Well, don't expect anything from me unless it's really important. And I know there's only one thing - or person - you consider important, Visha."_

_"Can't you find something else to tease me about?"_

_"Never!"_

* * *

**December 12, 1926, New York**

"Jenny, you finished your reading?" asked Lena, as she served up dinner.

"Yes, _Mom," _groaned the young girl. "I can't believe you two are going to make me go to school! This is not what I came to New York for!"

"Well, tough," I responded as I sipped my coffee. I was back in my Moana guise as we were in our home (a much bigger apartment than when I first arrived in the city) and I looked sternly at Jenny. "Feel lucky I'm letting you work part-time and take part in the exercises. But I won't have any illiterates in my company. You will go to school come spring."

"Can't you make it so I get it early like you did?"

"Well, do you already know all the material? No? Didn't think so."

Jenny huffed, then changed the subject. "Are you actually going to go to Jersey after New Year's?"

"I'm afraid so. VIP is still expanding, and I need to open up a new market. Some of my customers here have been good enough to recommend me to their Jersey colleagues, and I can't turn down the opportunity."

And wasn't that the truth. Honestly, I had absolutely no interest in going to Jersey at the height of winter, the weather was going to be absolutely miserable. But VIP needed to expand and diversify to different markets. While New York was a large city, there were only so many opportunities for a high end private security firm that specialized in long-term protection.

The truth is most people who could afford our services were also usually well off enough to either live in well-policed areas or have private security of their own. The number of people who both needed and could afford our services, like my first customer Brady, were few and far between. Most of the time I had squads, or even single agents, protecting entire streets, the residents all pooling their money together to hire us. My company's field strength was nudging close to 150, and I really didn't see New York needing too many more to service our customer base. I'd started operation and Manhattan, and had already expanded service to Brooklyn and Queens. I needed to start looking for new markets, and the next state over was the logical choice.

While I had the cadre in Londinium, most of the strength in the newly founded Tilbury Security was going to be locally recruited. I planned to do the same in Jersey. Take a core of veterans to get things started, then start recruiting locally to establish the New Jersey branch of Velvet Iron Protection.

My thoughts were distracted by Jenny's next words, "Can't I just go to school in Jersey then? That way I can stay with you!"

"Two reasons. One, my company HQ is still in New York. Once things get set up, I plan to come back here. Second, I actually managed to get you into a pretty good school, I doubt Jersey has anything better. Finally, it's not that far. You'll see me on the weekends. So stop being a baby."

"That's three reasons."

"Eat your food and shut up."

Just then there was a quiet curse and I found Lena almost tipping over a small rooster statue that was sitting on a stool. "I know you said this Feng Shui thing reduces the chances of accidents... but did you calculate the increased chance of accident from all these fool knickknacks?" came the loud grumble.

"Oh, you can shut up too."

* * *

**January 12, 1927, New Jersey State Police station, Jersey City Downtown,**

The station commissioner looked up as one of his senior detectives entered his office after a brief knock.

"This had better be something important."

The detective ran his fingers through his greying hair. "Oh, I think it is. Just came in from dockside. There's a brand new sign out on one of the buildings. Velvet Iron Protection."

"That... sounds a bit familiar."

"It should be. Battle of Qintown, ring any bells?"

"Oh right, that fight between those chinks and them strikebreakers. A few folk died on both sides, right? So, what, they setting up shop here?"

"Strikebreakers, is that what you think? Hah, these boys ain't no Pinkertons. No, the Velvet Irons are downright nasty."

Now the commissioner was taking notice. "Have you heard something, then."

"Oh yeah. Had a word with some friends in Midtown. Those bastards rule half of Manhattan. Officially, they're a private security firm. All nice and legal with contracts and taxes paid and everything. Underneath, you got one of the most brutal and terrifying protection rackets in the country. Word is, the first anyone knew about them, was when one of their boys put four of Luciano's in the ground, and they got Brady's bunch paying tribute to them almost right off the bat. Qintown was just the latest. They been picking off competition and taking over turf without even slowing down."

"And the cops are keeping their hands off?"

"Not much they can do. Them boys are real clever about toeing the line while out in public. Any shooting they do is all provably self-defense or defending their clients. It's gotten to the point where they don't even bother hauling them in for questioning any more, it's always the same. And when no one is looking, folk who might give them trouble... just tend to disappear or have unfortunate accidents. No evidence, no witnesses."

"And the other gangs are just taking it?"

"Oh, a few try to fight back. It never ends well. See, that's the thing. Whoever's behind Velvet Iron, they got some serious muscle. As in ex-military, maybe former Marines or some shit. Their boys ain't the kind of thugs who go around waving guns and making threats. Word is, each is a trained killer. Can shoot the eyes off a fly at twenty paces, they got armor, bikes, training, the works. They less a bunch of crooks and more a fucking army."

"... I think the Mayor might need to know about this."

"Yep. And you get to tell him."

"Fuck."

* * *

**January 14, 1927, Londinium, Albion**

They'd been in this city for almost seven months. The truth was, after the first four they'd run out of leads. At that point, they'd sat here spinning their wheels for the lack of anywhere better to be. Even the presence of their new Imperial 'consultant' had barely merited more than brief interest. Well, Captain Strong didn't seem to mind, he'd been taking the opportunity to build closer ties to Scotland Yard and British Intelligence.

Mary Sioux understood the importance of networking. After all, Interpol was meant to be a permanent organization, there would be many other cases, and a good working relationship with the Albish could only help future endeavors. But Tanya von Degurechaff was the only case she cared about, and the waiting was almost intolerable.

Waiting for what? Why, for the Devil to show herself of course! The Captain was convinced a personality like Degurechaff couldn't hide for long unless she was dead.

At least Mary had managed to use her time productively. Not that she'd enjoyed the results. Under the pretext of investigating Degurechaff, she'd demanded records of Albion's every single encounter with her. And just as Serebryakov had said, there was the report confirming the death a Legadonian mage, Anson Sioux, who had voluntarily joined on during Albion's last skirmish with the 203rd.

Now, sitting in the chilly office, she once more stared at the proof that her father had ultimately placed his - what? His vengeance? His patriotism? - over the love for his family.

Once more, as many times before, the report slips from her hands and she buries her face in her arms, and as she has been taught since childhood, she prays. What does she pray for? At this point, Mary herself isn't sure. It is less words and more a wail of anguish. A desperate voice seeking for a sign, anything, that there was some meaning to this world. Some purpose beyond betrayal and cruelty. That there could be some kind of reason why a good and kind man could abandon his family without a word, whereas a monster like Degurechaff could command loyalty undying.

As so many times before, she finds no answer. Drying her tears, she gets up to collect the scattered files and papers. As she is moving about, she notices a few pages that have slipped to the floor under her chair. Being a naturally neat person, she picks them up and glances them over. She recognizes them, part of a criminal investigation report. In a desperate effort to find Degurechaff, they'd been going over every major reported crime in Londinium since her disappearance. It was a Herculean task, given the sheer size of the city. The only reason she even recognizes this report is because it had been somewhat unusual even for Londinium - six men found dead in a public shootout, including one police officer. She hadn't looked too closely at it since it seemed like it would have nothing to do with Degurechaff - the other five men had all been known criminals, it was an obvious gangland shootout.

As she returns the papers to their proper file, though, something catches here eye. At the very end of the file, there is a list of persons of interest in connection to the shooting. Included in the list is a girl of estimated age 12, dark hair, dark eyes, Chinese features, calls herself Tina, speaks accented Albish, suspected of being a thief, approximately four and a half feet tall.

Tanya Degurechaff was about four and a half feet tall, spoke accented Albish, and looked around twelve. She was also suspected of having come into possession of a computational jewel, and was infamous for her use of illusions in combat.

It could be nothing. It could be everything. It could be the sign she'd been looking for. Mary didn't know what the truth was any more, but she was going to find out.


	12. Chapter 12

_A\N: Came across this __humorous Worm fic called "Lord Doom" on SpaceBattles__ that really tickled my fancy. It's a Nanowrimo project, so pretty good chance it'll actually finish. I highly recommend it._

**Chapter 12**

**February 5, 1927, Jersey City, Unified States**

I rode through the streets, arms stretched to grasp the handlebars on my company motorbike. Well it was _a_ company motorbike, I'd just picked up one of the Scouts from the motor pool when I'd headed out this evening.

In my past life, I had neither the opportunity nor the inclination to the ride a motorcycle, considering them deathtraps best suited to those infatuated with their rebellious self-image. In this life, only the greatly reduced speed of traffic and a constant reflex enhancement spell gave me the confidence to get on one of these machines. However, it couldn't be avoided. As the Field Commander of Velvet Iron Protection, I had to be able to do everything my agents could do, which now included riding a motorcycle.

At least there wasn't too much paperwork involved in riding one of these. Anyone could operate a bike with a basic driver's license, which in this place and age meant an hour's testing and a few basic questions on road safety. And once I got that, I basically retired my Moana Kane persona. I might eventually bring her back if I ever found any use for that high school diploma, but twenty-year-old Jennifer Ecks (as shown on my New York driver's license) was now the face I wore pretty much everywhere. Passing myself of as twenty was not that unrealistic now that I was almost 4'10" in height. Of course what would happen if I kept on growing was an interesting question, but in preparation for that day I'd got myself a set of elevated boots. If my growth spurt continued I could swap out for regular footwear and not have to invent yet another identity. This was good, as I was honestly getting attached to Jennifer Ecks, no matter how much Jenny might razz me over stealing her name.

As for the actual experience of riding a bike, I could see how some people could romanticize it. For those who'd never been an aerial mage, it might actually feel similar to flying. For me, it was clumsy, noisy, and so very slow. Seriously, this so called 'sports bike' could barely top fifty miles per hour on a highway. Right now I was at almost forty, and I could feel the engine straining. Fortunately, I was almost to the goal of this evening's excursion. My target was none other than the Mayor of Jersey City, and arguably the most powerful political figure in the state, one John Hague Junior.

It was not his position as Mayor which made him powerful, but his position as the Democrat party leader in Hudson County. Through a combination of bribery, voter fraud, and a massive, legitimate electioneering organization designed to maximize voter turnout, he could conjure votes almost on demand in any election held within the county. The last three Governors of the state of New Jersey owed their position to the votes delivered by Hague. The man was the next best thing to politically untouchable. So, when one of my communication mages reported that the Mayor was walking the streets, and had actually paused to have a conversation with the agent in question, I leaped on the opportunity to make the acquaintance of such an important person.

Over the last few weeks, there had been quite a few questions asked by the local police regarding our business. It hadn't troubled me too much, since I had long since anticipated this kind of attention. Not even Americans could be completely blasé about what amounted to a private army patrolling their city streets, and I was honestly surprised I had to move to New Jersey to get the level of official attention I had long since expected. Still, no matter how expected the scrutiny, that didn't stop it from being uncomfortable, and I figured making a positive impression on the Mayor could only help clear up misunderstandings before they had the chance to fester.

I came around a corner and I immediately spotted a thin dour-faced middle-aged man of around 5'8". In the dim light I had to use a bit of magnification, but it wasn't hard to recognize my quarry. As I pulled up in front of him and hopped off the bike, Hague stopped to stare at me. I couldn't help but quietly sigh. The sight of a small woman on a large bike never seemed to cease to draw stares. I suppose the combat fatigues didn't help either.

As I placed the bike on its kickstand and adjusted the submachine gun strapped to my back, I noted the three plainclothesmen that had been tailing the mayor, and who had broken into a frantic run to get closer as soon as I showed up. This time I couldn't keep from scoffing under my breath. If I'd really meant the Mayor harm, I could have shot him and been on my way long before any of them could do any good. Truly, it was a testament to the innocence of the times that such an important figure could feel safe walking the streets at night with such inadequate security.

I plucked off my helmet to let my red-dyed hair free and then pulled down my VIP face-mask before addressing him, "Good evening, Mr. Mayor. I'm surprised to see you out on such a cold evening." Yes, I'd repeatedly drummed it into my agent's heads never to reveal their identities. But you can't hold a proper discussion with someone who couldn't see your face, and this particular street didn't have any of my agents anyway.

As his escort caught up with us I idly noted that although they had hands in their pockets, my friendly greeting seemed to have persuaded them not to pull weapons just yet. In hindsight, showing up without an appointment may not have been the best idea, but when else am I going to get the chance for a face-to-face with a genuine political powerhouse? As I was making sure no one was going to do anything premature, the mayor seemed to have finally gotten over his surprise at a woman on a bike, and was addressing me, "And how can I help you, miss...?"

"Jennifer Ecks, of Velvet Iron Protection. And I don't want anything, sir, just making stopping by to make sure everything is all right. Very rare to meet a personage of your importance out on the streets like this."

"I like to see how things are with my own eyes. Reports can only do so much."

I was pleasantly surprised. It was rare to meet a politician so conscientious. "I understand perfectly, sir. Surprise inspections are the best way to keep people on their toes."

"Mm, yes. Speaking of inspections, I spoke to one of your colleagues a little while back, and he mentioned how none of you were supposed to remove your masks?"

"Quite correct. It's a measure to protect our friends and family from criminal reprisal. But in my case, I have no close friends and no family. Plus, I'm also the field commander, so you might say that along with our CEO, I'm one of the faces representing Velvet Iron to the larger population. Kind of hard to do that with a mask on."

He blinked at me for a moment, then said slowly, "Forgive me, but I have a hard time believing you are their commander."

I bristled a bit. "Because I'm a woman?"

"Because you look younger than my daughter."

I smiled at this. "You flatter me, Mr. Mayor. But I'm far more experienced than I look."

We walked together for a moment of silence, then he spoke. "I'll be honest, I've heard some less than good things about your company. I heard there was a bit of a mess in Qintown."

I carefully kept from wincing. I had to admit, it was quite embarrassing that two of my men had allowed themselves to be trapped and overrun by a gang of thugs. It spoke poorly of their training and awareness, and thus it spoke poorly of me. That they had been outnumbered ten to one didn't matter - my former superiors in the Empire would have simply pointed out they should not have been allowed to fall into such a trap in the first place. Still, I had to remember, the mayor was a civilian. Throw around a few numbers, and he might not question the tactical failure. "I understand, it was quite an embarrassing showing. Still, in the defense of my men, they were outnumbered ten to one. Under the circumstances, taking down six of their assailants wasn't too shabby. And we took steps to ensure there wouldn't be a repeat of such an incident."

"Oh? What kind of steps?"

Ah, crap. I couldn't admit to committing murder. "Well, it was at that point we invested in motorbikes and for rapid-response units," I said, while waving at the bike behind us. "We've also got our own medic squads for emergencies, and we're working on greatly improving tactical communications."

"That all sounds impressive, but do you think that will be enough?"

"Ah, but you forget, our enemies were criminals. And criminals lack discipline and honor. One of the main leaders of the criminal organization - they call themselves the Hip Sing - found himself killed by one of his own associates. The resulting infighting is still going on."

"That was quite fortunate for you."

"Fortune favors the prepared, Mr. Mayor. We have the training, the equipment, the discipline, we can easily bounce back from any setback, rebuild from any loss! Whereas all it takes is one untimely death to throw the unprepared into confusion."

There was another patch of silence at this. The mayor seemed to be thinking hard on my words. I decided to restart the conversation before he could find some holes to poke in my statement. "Speaking of untimely deaths, I am honestly surprised to find someone as important as yourself so unprotected."

Now he was the one bristling, as he waved at the trio behind as, "I am quite well protected, as you can see!"

"Yes, you are. Against angry voters and random hoodlums. But not against a prepared adversary."

"This is not Qintown, Miss Ecks. People here do not go around shooting guns in the streets. We have the finest police force in the country! Anyone trying to start something in my city will find the full force of the law coming down on them like a ton of bricks!"

"Exactly!" I said, clapping my hands. "From all accounts, you have done a fine job, Mr. Mayor. There is a reason you've been in charge for almost a decade now. But alas, success breeds jealousy. Jealousy breeds desperation. You and I are civilized people, but it only takes one person who thinks they can get away with it to start something. I mean, look at what almost happened with Teddy Rosenvelt! If Mr. Rosenvelt's assailant had actual military training, the situation would have been a whole lot worse. Just for starters, a trained soldier would not have tried to kill someone with something as feeble as a pistol."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." At this point, I was drawing inspiration from what little I remembered of the Kennedy assassination. "A properly trained shooter can put a bullet through a human head at several hundred yards, and America has no shortage of effective hunting rifles. I mean, look at this street." I waved at the buildings around us. "That particular building commands the entire street. A shooter on the top floor could hit anyone on this street. And the range is less than four hundred yards, easy meat for a trained sniper."

"You speak from experience?"

"I've had experience with urban snipers." I replied, my mind flashing back to Arenne. "And I doubt I'm the only one. We in Velvet Iron do our best to recruit those with military experience." Of course, the American military hadn't fought a major war in decades, so hardly any of my agents had seen actual battle, but let's not mention that.

"And you think it would be that easy?"

"I _know_ it would be that easy. A politician has to be in certain places at certain times. And even during unexpected excursions, a truly dedicated assassin will have people in place to keep him apprised regarding his target's movements. After all, it took me only ten minutes to find you tonight."

Hague was looking quite unwell by this point. Not too surprising, it's never pleasant to be faced with your own mortality. Hopefully, he would be more cautious in the future. While the idea of a leader going around on his own to see things on the ground sounds romantic, it's a recipe for tragedy if he doesn't take proper precautions.

"And what do you want, Miss Ecks?"

I tried to protest my good intentions, but he was an important and powerful man. I'd already admitted to seeking him out, there's no way he would believe I'd done it without a goal in mind. And since he seemed inclined towards frank speaking, I said, "I am but a part of Velvet Iron Protection. And what we want is to do our legitimate business without undue interference."

"I can't have gunfights in the streets!"

"And you won't get any. It is a testament to your efficiency Mr. Mayor, that there are practically no well-entrenched criminal gangs in this city as there are in New York. I foresee very few attempts to interfere with our clients. We do not seek to start trouble, Mr. Mayor. But neither will we stand by and let those who pay for our protection be victimized."

"And what about those who don't want to pay for your protection?"

"Why, they will just have to make do with the regular police force, like everyone else."

"And what if those you are protecting are criminals?"

"Discretion is part of our service. We neither know nor do we care to know our clients' business. If their business is against the law, the police are free to search and seize them - provided they have a legal warrant."

"A warrant?"

"Of course. We are a nation of laws, are we not? Without a legal warrant, no one is getting into a place protected by Velvet Iron. Not even you, Mr. Mayor."

I let him chew on this information for a bit. Then he spoke up, "As long as you don't cause a public disturbance, I suppose there is nothing more to be said. But if you're going to be operating in this city, well, it is only proper to make some kind of civic contribution."

Now what did he mean by that? I'd been prepared to pay a bribe, but this conversation had shown he seemed genuine in his concern for his city...ah! Of course! "If you are asking if the city government can hire Velvet Iron, I can assure, not only are we available, but I'd... I mean the CEO would be willing to forgo our usual rates and instead offer our services on a cost-plus basis."

"Ah, well..."

He didn't seem too enthusiastic about that. I guess with an effective police force such a deal would not sound very attractive. I decided to sweeten it further, "And of course, if you need us to provide security for some kind of charity event, I'm confident I could persuade our CEO to provide our services _pro bono_."

"Oh?" He seemed to think about this for a second, then asked tentatively, "As it happens, I've been seeing quite a bit of interference raising funds for a college baseball team ever since they started admitting blacks to the team. Do you suppose...?"

"Say no more. My men will take a positive pleasure in ensuring the fundraising proceeds without interference. No charge."

"Excellent. And how about providing security to my election workers during the polls?"

"While voting is a sacred right, that's a bit too much manpower to provide for free. But I'm sure we can offer the service at cost plus just a few percent."

"Well, Miss Ecks, this sounds like the beginning of a fruitful partnership."

"How wonderful. Speaking of, Mr. Mayor, I've heard you've been trying to revamp the healthcare system for this city?"

"Indeed I have."

"Well, have you considered the utility of magic in healthcare?"

"If you mean medical mages, we have a few, but they are terribly expensive."

"That they are. But are you aware that humanity has been practicing magic for thousands of years, before the advent of modern computation jewels and medical mages?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Just a modern adaptation of some ancient wisdom from the Far East. As it happens, Velvet Iron's parent company, Manpower Plus, has recently diversified into alternative magical solutions. Tell me, have you heard of Feng Shui...?"

* * *

**February 20, 1927, Londinium, Albion**

"It's her, it has to be her!"

Captain Strong, Unified States Naval Intelligence, observed his agitated subordinate. "Are you sure, Ensign?"

"Yes, I am!" shot back Ensign Mary Sioux. "Tina Kurosawa showed up on the street within days of Degurechaff's disappearance. Her physical profile matches Degurechaff's almost perfectly! And that pawn shop owner we found described in excellent detail how she was way too dangerous for a normal girl her age!"

"And her ability with Akinese?" came the amused voice of Lieutenant Elya Roth of Imperial Military Intelligence. "While the Empire went to considerable lengths to promote the Argent Silver, even we didn't pretend she could learn an entire new language without anyone noticing."

Mary gritted her teeth. That was the single biggest sticking point with her conclusion. If it had been a matter of spoken language - well, how many people on the streets of London actually knew Akinese when they heard it? Unfortunately, Tina Kurosawa had also taken the time to paint a wall hanging for one of her usual haunts, Sal's Pub. The pub owner had confirmed 'Tina' as the creator of the painting, and a translator had confirmed it to be a traditional Akinese proverb written in traditional Akinese pictograms.

"It's a con," gritted out Mary. "Think about it. She hardly ever spoke Akinese because she never interacted with people who did. And that painting? How difficult would it be for someone like her to look up the correct way to write a single proverb? A few hours' work at most, and suddenly there is tangible proof that Tina Kurosawa and Tanya Degurechaff are not the same person."

"And she did all this... when? Between running from all of Albion and pretending to be a street urchin and working as a dishwasher she somehow took the time to go to... Oxford?... And sneak into their Oriental department to look up the right way to paint Akinese proverbs."

"Lieutenant," came the quelling tone from Captain Strong. Then he turned back to Mary and said, "While she is being unnecessarily caustic, she's not wrong. It does seem like an excessive amount of effort for a cover. But... you're not wrong either, Ensign. If it wasn't for this one point, I would be supporting your theory without reservation."

"Really?" Elya raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I thought we all agreed she'd had to have had outside help to break out. Why would she be drawing attention as a child criminal on the streets of Londinium?"

"She DID have outside help," declared the ensign triumphantly. "Just not the one we thought. Do you remember the interview with Serebryakov, her adjutant? That girl was way too confident! I am certain she had a hand in it, which would explain why the Devil was out on the streets without support."

"Oh, I remember that interview all right," came Elya's dry response. "I remember the screaming and death threats and accusations..."

"_Lieutenant,_" came the growl from Strong.

"Fine," declared Elya, throwing up her hands in surrender. "Let's say for the sake of argument that Tina and Tanya are the same person. Where the hell is she now?"

There was a moment of silence, then Captain Strong said, "She disappeared after that big shoot-out, which only makes sense. I wouldn't be surprised if she left the city, maybe even the country."

"Or she just changed her face," pointed out Elya. "Since we are assuming she can use magic without anyone detecting it - somehow."

There was a long minute of silence as they all considered the dilemma. Then Mary said, "Fernandez."

"Pardon?" asked Elya.

"Lena Fernandez. The waitress from the pub. The one who is suspected for shooting the policeman. The one who witnesses say was close friends with Tina, to the point of committing murder for her sake. She disappeared at the same time. It's possible they're still together, wherever they are. If we can find her, we might find Degurechaff."

Elya considered this. "I suppose, since Fernandez isn't a trained mage, she would be easier to track."

"Exactly!"

"I see." murmured Strong. "Very well, Ensign. I'll get with Scotland Yard and see if we can't rustle up some clues regarding her whereabouts. Don't hold your breath though. Even Albion isn't that small, and there's so many ships leaving the country each day she could be almost anywhere."

The Captain took off shortly after that, leaving the Ensign and the Lieutenant in the room. After a while, Elya broke the silence. "You know, Ensign, you seem to be taking all this way too personally."

"And you seem to be taking this way too cavalierly!" came the passionate reply. "But then I shouldn't be surprised. I bet you're perfectly happy to sabotage this investigation!"

"Careful, Ensign," Elya replied. Languidly getting to her feet, she strode forward until she was face to face, and smirking down at Mary from her three-inch height advantage. "Accusations like that could cause an international incident. And do you know what happens to ensigns who cause international incidents? They get sent home. Out of sight, out of mind."

As she spoke, Elya deliberately pushed her way into Mary's personal space. The ensign, in turn, backed up almost unconsciously, until her knees bumped into a chair. Elya took advantage of her momentary distraction to push the ensign down into the seat. Mary immediately tried to stand back up, but Elya spun up a reinforcement spell to forcefully keep her seated.

It was a contest Elya was destined to lose. Whatever else, there was no denying Mary Sioux was the stronger mage. So Elya kept talking to keep Mary from remembering that fact. "Whatever you might think, ensign, I too am quite interested in finding Tanya von Degurechaff. There are quite a few people in the Empire very interested in her whereabouts."

Sensing Mary had stopped struggling for the moment, Elya took the opportunity to slip behind the chair, and drape herself over Mary's shoulders, her own face next to the ensign's. Teasing prudes had always been a bit of a hobby for Elya ever since she met her best friend Visha, and Mary made Visha look like a libertine. Sure enough, the ensign stiffened up like a statue, the sudden intimacy short-circuiting any resistance.

Carefully keeping any amusement out of her voice, Elya said, "My chief concern really, is that should we ever be in a position to arrest Degurechaff, you might suddenly find it necessary to kill her for resisting arrest."

"What? How dare... I wouldn't..."

Elya cut short Mary's spluttering denials. "_'For the good Lord God cannot allow a sinner like her to walk free_'" she quoted softly. "I am afraid, ensign, that you made your position quite clear. This is not an investigation for you, but a crusade. And the funny thing about crusades is, the first step is to deny the humanity of your target."

In the ensuing silence, Elya took a moment to ponder how much more comfortable it would be to embrace someone if they weren't doing their best impression of a marble statue.

"You... you're wrong." the shuddering words fell from Mary's lips.

"Oh?"

"This is a crusade against injustice. Against people doing whatever they think they can get away with. About calling people to account for the evil they have done."

"Like killing your father?"

"Degurechaff did much worse than that! So much worse..."

"But that's the only crime that matters, isn't it?"

"NO!" The ensign took a deep breath, before her voice came out at its normal level. "No. My father's death... it is terrible... but that is not the reason why we must bring Degurechaff to justice..."

"Oh? But if that is the case, why are you treating this case so very personally, ensign?"

"I-I'm not..."

"You're not nearly a good enough liar to make that convincing. No ensign..." Elya deliberately leaned forward so that her next words would send her hot breath tickling against the pulse point in the ensign's neck. "I think... what you need to ask yourself... more than anything... what or who do you really, _really_ want."

Elya got up after that. On the way, she took her time to run her hand through the ensign's hair. And then she left the room without looking back, leaving the ensign frozen in her seat.

All part of the plan that she'd come up with on the spot to keep Ensign Sioux confused and off kilter.

Elya had been telling the truth in a sense, there were people in the Empire for whose sake Elya was willing to track down Major Degurechaff. And Mary was an asset in that regard, her dogged determination and flashes of insight finding clues that others missed. The trouble was that those virtues were married to an obsessive personality and level of magic power that Elya found extremely disturbing. If the ensign ever got every bit of her scattered personality pointed in a single direction, Elya suspected that all restraint would fly out the window. Best that Elya use whatever tricks she could to keep her scattered and confused for as long as humanly possible.

* * *

**March 31, 1927, New York, Unified States**

I wasn't sure how, but somehow I'd become the one tasked with making sure Jenny did her assigned homework from school. It was almost enough to send me fleeing back to New Jersey. At least there, the Mayor would pay me for the demands he put on time.

Over the last couple of months, business had come along well. While the Mayor took ruthless advantage of the generous terms I'd offered him, I did manage to make my money back using Household Magicks, the latest subsidiary of Manpower Plus. Once I'd demonstrated to the mayor and doctors alike the small but significant beneficial effects a Feng Shui ritual could have on health and well-being, I'd been swamped with requests. What had started as a few orders for Feng Shui rituals around Jersey hospitals had quickly extended to demand from other hospitals and organizations, not just in Jersey but in New York as well.

In fact, the demand had gotten so high I'd had to break my own rule about not recruiting mages below the age of 18. I justified it to myself by sending all under-18 mages to Household Magicks and keeping them far away from the dangers of Velvet Iron. Changying Lin was the CEO of Household Magicks and she proved surprisingly adept at spreading the word and drumming up new business. The best part was, since Feng Shui rituals needed regular recharging, I could sell them a service instead of a onetime sale. And since Household Magicks was the only company that could make a Feng Shui ritual practical, we had a monopoly for the foreseeable future. A monopoly that I further reinforced by taking out a patent on the modified rituals. Did I feel guilty about stealing an ancient heritage and taking out a patent on it? Not after I saw the company's monthly balance sheet.

My own bank account was also looking quite healthy. True, I secretly owned them all through Manpower Plus, but between my salary as Jennifer Ecks and the royalties from the patented rituals, my official taxable income had also hit $800 a month.

Tempting as it was to kick back and relax, I couldn't allow myself to fall into complacency. The American bubble continued to grow towards its inevitable date with destiny, and whatever pieces the Great Depression left Being X was sure to kick down. Right now, both Velvet Iron and Household Magicks were luxury services offered to those who had extra cash lying around to buy a bit of extra security. My in with the Jersey City mayor meant Velvet Iron had a few government contracts to fall back on, but they weren't profitable enough to keep the company going on their own. No, if I wanted to keep the business going, I needed new opportunities.

Still, I had to put aside such thought for the moment, and help out Jenny with the intricacies of long division.

Later at dinner, I received what might very well be a potential answer to my problems. Mayor Hague had been in touch with Lena in her capacity as CEO of Velvet Iron Protection.

"What does he need mages for?" I asked when I heard the bare bones of the request.

"He doesn't. From what I understand, a computation orb research facility has opened up in Trenton, one of the investors is a friend of the mayor, and this facility is currently looking for mages to help with product development."

"What kind of product."

"Something called a multi-core orb, you have any idea what that is?"

I felt a ball of ice settle in my stomach. "Lena, did he say, and this is important here, a dual-core orb or a quad-core orb?"

"No, just multi-core. Why?"

"Because dual-cores are an ambitious but achievable goal. Quad-cores are _banned by international law_."

"Banned by..." Lena drew in a sharp breath. "Now I remember. The Brest disaster, that was a quad-core wasn't it."

"Indeed it was. Lena, I want you to get back in touch with Hague. Tell him to set us up with the people involved in this project. We're not just going to act as consultants on this, Manpower Plus is going to be an investor."

"Why?"

_Because there's no way I'm giving Being X another chance at influencing this world when I have the chance to stop it_. I couldn't say that out loud though, so what I said was, "The world does not need quad-core technology, Lena. Three people died to make the Elenium Type 95, and hundreds of thousands more when it destabilized. Do you really want to see something like that happen in Trenton? No, we're going to be part of it, and we're going to make sure to keep them far away from that insanity."

As I calmed down from my initial panic, I realized there would be one more advantage to being a partner to this enterprise. If these people really had ambitions to design a multi-core orb, then they must already possess the expertise to produce single-core combat orbs. And a combat-rated orb, even single-core, would be far superior to what I had now. _I could fly again_.

Well, not freely. Magic detectors were still a thing, and Second Amendment or no the Americans had still done the sane thing and banned combat orbs from anyone outside the military. Still, even if I couldn't use it openly, I could once more have the option of flying away from danger. That would be worth any amount of money. And if they could somehow get dual core orbs working? The sky was literally the limit, and as a partner I'd be along for the ride.

Still, I had to make absolutely sure to impress on the researchers involved how much of a bad idea it would be to even dream of recreating the Type 95. "Lena, once we've got everything set up and we're a partner, I need you find out everything you can about the people involved. In particular, I need the names of the head researchers, the scientific minds powering this enterprise."

"All right. Why?"

"Because they need to know why they shouldn't even think of trying to violate the quad-core ban. Because for something like this... yes, it's a risk, but I think the Devil of the Rhine might just come out of retirement."


	13. Chapter 13

_A\N: Just binge read Third Time's the Charm. It's a recent ongoing fic where Tanya gets isekai'd a second time into a new fantasy world. I know nothing of Konosuba, yet I found this fic very entertaining. Can be found on __FF__ or __AO3__._

_Also, a big shoutout to the commenters on SpaceBattles who mentioned Howard Hughes, it gave me what I hope will be an entertaining direction for this story._

**Chapter 13**

Dr. Wesley scowled down at the smoking wreckage of his latest prototype computation orb. Then he turned his scowl at me. "Miss Ecks, did you really have to destroy it just to prove your point?"

"Doctor, I'm afraid that _is_ very much the point. It doesn't matter how efficient your new spell designs are, you cannot cut corners on robustness. Not for a device meant for combat."

Grumbling under his breath, he carried the remains of his prototype of to the lab to study what component failed this time. And yet for all his curmudgeonly nature, the man was a vast improvement on Dr. Schugel. Perhaps not in scientific brilliance, but the man was at least willing to accept feedback from those with practical experience, no matter how grudgingly.

Part of his difficulty lay in the fact that this was his first foray in developing combat-rated computation orbs, as well as for Hughes Magic Works for which he was head researcher. Prior to this the company had focused primarily on developing orbs for medical applications, and it showed. All their prior designs emphasized precision and sensitivity over all else, and Wesley himself was a medical doctor as well as an engineer. After entering the world of combat orbs, they were slowly and painfully learning that robustness and power output mattered more than anything else.

It was not all bad. Medical spells were not only extremely precise and efficient but also capable of handling highly complex instructions. While I'd never had time nor inclination to pursue medical magic before, now that I was associated with a company with a history in the practice I was finding the new perspective quite illuminating. Simply studying the techniques involved had allowed me to make some minor improvements to my illusion spells.

In the end, it turned out Hughes Magic Works wasn't some sort of ploy by Being X, or at least, they were a very long term one. After getting in touch with them through Mayor Hague I'd discovered they were still struggling to create a functional single core combat orb, never mind quad core.

However, I'd still gone ahead with my plan of investing in the company even if it cost me most of my cash reserves to do so. After all, it was quite the coincidence that a civilian orb company would set up a workshop with the stated goal of developing multi-core orbs right next door to me. Being X had long since taught me to distrust coincidence. If I'd ignored this company, I just knew that bastard would have intervened somehow to my detriment. Now that I was a partner, I was in a position to at least try to quash attempts at divine interference.

There was also the bonus that the American government was so desperate to catch up to the Empire they were pretty much throwing money at anyone who seemed to have any chance of success. Hughes Magic had managed to finagle a fat government grant even before they built their first combat prototype. As long as they could show some kind of progress, at least one of my investments would be more or less recession-proof.

Still, keeping that juicy grant meant I couldn't simply allow the workshop to flounder. So I'd seconded myself to Hughes Magic Works as a combat magic consultant. This way I could help guide their development with my own experience. Plus, my consultant's salary was a big raise over what I'd been paying myself as Jennifer Ecks, and the burden of paying it was now on Hughes Magic Works.

As a consultant, one of the first things I'd persuaded the CEO of Hughes Magic to do was put their multi-core orb research on the back-burner. While I didn't know the exact figure, I had a ballpark for how much the Empire had spent on developing the Types 95 and 97. Presenting these figures as information gathered by Velvet Iron's Waldstatten-based parent company Manpower Plus, I'd pointed out how even with the government grant Hughes Magic Works simply didn't have the finances to duplicate such an effort. Instead, I proposed we focus on developing a single core combat orb that would still be an improvement on the current American standard, and convince the government to make us their primary orb manufacturer. Once we had secured this revenue stream, we would have the wherewithal to pursue multi-core orbs without bankrupting ourselves.

I was quite confident in this strategy because of how much room for improvement existed in the current American mage arsenal. Their so-called cutting edge orbs, the 6F and 4U models from Bell Labs, were inferior to the Standard Type 13 that I'd been using in my first battle over Norden. Recently the US Navy had tried to modernize with the model G58 developed by the Charles Churchill Company, but that had proven a failure. There was an opportunity here to steal the primary government supply contracts using a decent single core orb while everyone else was busy chasing dual and quad cores.

Steven Simmons, the CEO of Hughes Magic Works, proved surprisingly receptive to my suggestions. I'd initially expected some pushback since I was an outsider, but he positively leaped at my idea and the whole Workshop had changed direction within a matter of days. It was only some weeks later that I learned Simmons had been agitating for such a direction change for a while.

It turns out this whole emphasis on multi-core orbs was the brainchild of one John Felix Hughes, current majority shareholder of Hughes Tool Company, the parent organization to Hughes Magic Works. The founder of Hughes Tool, Howard Hughes, had passed away just a few years ago, leaving his fortune to his then 19-year-old son John. The teenager had an interest in magecraft, and had insisted that Hughes Magic Works, the magical branch of Hughes Tool, start focusing all their attention on multi-core combat orbs. And then, in typical rich dilettante fashion, he had developed a new obsession with the film industry. He and his wife had taken off for Hollywood, and Hughes Tool Company had started hemorrhaging money to fund his forays into the world of the silver screen.

With funding from their parent company in jeopardy, Simmons had been pushing for the workshop to aim at the lower-hanging fruit of an improved single-core orb. In the end, my 'brilliant' strategy was already known to the company, but thanks to my halo of an 'outside expert' the company finally had an excuse to get off its ass and do what was needed. Well, let none say I wasn't earning my consultant's fee.

As for the orb itself, even though I was giving Wesley a hard time, I was privately impressed with how fast they were moving. Even though I had carefully concealed my ability to cast spells without tripping detectors, the company's own experience meant that they were long used to optimizing spells for efficiency and my advice helped bridge the gap between civilian and military applications. The orb they were creating was not only going to be more capable than the Standard Type 13, but it was also going to be a lot harder to detect, and its spell library was going to take less magic to utilize. It had taken them some months of trial and error, but as we headed into June of 1927, I gave them two weeks at the outside before they had their final prototype. Right now their testing revolved around the sweet spot between power and expense. Simply put, barring divine interference, the more power an orb can handle, the more difficult it is to manufacture. The level of precision and the quality of the gemstones in even a mediocre combat orb was nothing to sneeze at. The latest prototype had seemingly cut a few too many corners.

I say seemingly because I had deliberately put in just a bit more energy than I was supposed to during the test. The reason for this was simple - I wanted a few orbs of my own, and since the law prevented me from owning them legally, I just had to use unethical means to acquire them. Today was the fourth more-or-less functional combat orb that had 'burnt out' in testing over the last few months. Once the labs were through the remains would be disposed of - only instead of being dumped or recycled, the orb would find its way into my hands via a bribed custodian. I would then take the orb to a watchmaker who was also one of V.I.P.'s clients, and he would painstakingly repair it using notes on the design that I'd acquired through my position as partner.

It was honestly ridiculous how open companies of this time were to industrial espionage. It's a good thing I'd come in as partner or the workshop's designs might very well have ended up stolen. As it is, I'd spent the last few months plugging up any security holes apart from the one I was exploiting. Although, I figured I'd acquired as many orbs as I could without arousing suspicion. With the design's constant improvement, it would start looking odd if more orbs got damaged. I'd have to be satisfied with the four orbs for now. Four orbs - now if I had three other trustworthy combat mages to go with it, I'd have a platoon.

Unfortunately, Barrow was the only combat-rated mage I had access to, and he was still in Londinium. Even if I brought him back, training an adequate aerial mage takes at least a year when starting from scratch. And that assumes I could find a location we could train without being detected. No, building my own mage platoon would be a very long term project, particularly since I couldn't employ them within the Unified States.

Putting aside my daydreams, I tuned back in to the debrief I was giving Dr. Wesley. While getting combat orbs of my own was wonderful, I honestly did want the final product to be a success, which means I had to make sure it was the best we could make.

* * *

**June 15, 1927, Reina del Angel, Unified States**

How did it come to this? Oh right, it's because I forgot my small size and youth and tried to drink like the salaryman I used to be. Not only did I end up making a fool of myself in front of some very important people, but as a direct consequence of my idiocy, I was now facing down a full company of American aerial mages, armed and ready.

Really, it was a good thing we were all technically working for the same person. But that would mean nothing if they detected the illusion spell I was using to make myself look like an Irish redhead several years my senior. Thankfully none of them seemed the slightest bit suspicious. I guess you simply don't expect to encounter an international fugitive on a Hollywood movie set. But really, if I get through this safely, I swear I will never take a second drink in public for the rest of this life. How on Earth did Hughes convince the American army to give him an entire mage company for his movie's battle scenes, anyway?

The whole mess started just a few days ago at the New York headquarters of the Hughes Tool Company.

The Hughes Magic Works' parent company had thrown a party to celebrate the workshop's successful development and demonstration of their new prototype Hughes M27 high-efficiency combat orb. The American army seemed extremely interested, and everyone was expecting a big order. Not only were all the bigwigs from both companies present at the party, but our absentee owner had decided to make an appearance. John Felix Hughes had flown himself down from Reina del Angel (the man was apparently a licensed pilot) to personally congratulate us.

Whatever his other failings, there was no denying the young man was charismatic. He turned a stuffy company affair into a casual bash in short order, and soon the booze was flowing like water and everyone was having a good time. Unfortunately, I got caught up in the mood. It was somewhere around my second glass of wine that I heard spoken my real name of Tanya Degurechaff.

Naturally curious I sought out the conversation and found John Hughes explaining to an admiring audience the plot of his latest cinematic masterpiece. It was titled 'Arenne' and would be an action epic focused on the destruction of the city. The hero was naturally an American soldier who was on leave visiting the family of his newly wedded wife, and he would find himself caught up with the plucky French resistance as they fought desperately to protect the civilians (and the hero's extended family) against the evil Imperial forces, led by yours truly.

I was more amused than annoyed. All things considered, the only surprise was it had taken this long for someone to make a movie butchering the true tale behind that whole sordid affair. However, I couldn't help but let out a loud snort after Hughes started reading some of the lines for his Tanya character.

When I found myself the center of attention I should have made some excuse and pulled out. But I was overflowing with Dutch courage and so instead of backing down I doubled down. "That is your Tanya? A rabidly violent _child_ who can barely make a coherent speech? Are we talking about the same person as was in that Albish trial? The girl who by age eleven was known as Argent Silver by allies and the Devil of the Rhine by her enemies?"

At that point, I was so caught up in my own speech that I remember jumping on top of a table and polishing off my glass before continuing, "Now, if I were to imagine how the Devil of the Rhine would be giving a speech to motivate her people to commit one of the most brutal acts of the war, it would go something like this!"

Drawing up on my memories of a conversation I had with one of the mages of the 203rd, Lt. Grantz, I took the basic arguments I'd given him and dialed the drama and bombast up to eleven. "Soldiers of the Empire! Today is the day we turn the beautiful town of Arenne into one more blasted hellscape! We do this not because we want to, but because we must! For we have received our orders, and we. Are. Soldiers! We do not ask why, we simply do and die!"

At this point I had dropped my voice into a lower register, and started glaring down the party-goers as if they were a bunch of recalcitrant recruits. "Some of you may be tempted to spare our enemies. To think that you can let them go because they are no threat to us. That is naive! All of us were civilians at one point in our lives, and yet here we are, guns in our hands and blood on our souls! Today's civilian is tomorrow's soldier, and to allow an enemy soldier to live is not only foolish, it is treason! Our orders are clear! This city is to be cleansed of the Republican taint! So take up your guns and start shooting! And you will not stop until the enemy is dead or it is time to reload! For the Empire!"

My little performance had been greeted by stunned silence, but by that time I was too drunk to care that I'd made a public spectacle of myself. I only remembered pieces of the rest of the party, but somewhere along the line Hughes had convinced me to fly back with him to Reina del Angel to try out for the role of Tanya von Degurechaff.

Fast forward a few days, and here I was, ignoring all my responsibilities to play at being an actress while simultaneously being forced to socialize with people who likely had standing orders to shoot me on sight. At least I wasn't completely defenseless. Hughes had somehow gotten permission to issue me a brand new M27 orb as part of the movie props. Still, with any luck, Hughes would quickly realize I had no acting ability at all, and I could be back in New York within the week.

* * *

**June 27, 1927, Londinium, Albion**

Two young ladies sat at a cafe in Londinium, enjoying a delightful sunny day in the Albish capital. Elya considered it somewhat ironic. She remembered passing many an idle hour doing exactly this with Visha back on the continent. Now she was once more accompanied by a young female aerial mage, but her current companion was very far from even the loosest definition of 'friend'. And of course, there was the fact that they were technically on the job.

"There he is," came the eager whisper from her companion.

Elya glanced up, then said casually, "Stop staring like that, you'll tip him off. And are you sure?" The person in question was part of a group of three men, all of whom were armed and wearing full-face helmets.

Her companion flushed at the rebuke, before replying coldly, "Yes, I'm sure. He's easily the most powerfully built man there. Besides, you can smell the magic on him."

"I'll leave smelling strange men to you, Mary dear," came the sickly sweet reply. Ignoring the girl's sudden flush, Elya continued, "But you have a point. That's a nice little enhancement suite he's running, isn't it. On top of his physique, he can probably tear the head right off a civilian. Interesting though that he can afford to keep it up constantly, even on a civvie orb. That's something you usually see only in aerial mages."

"Maybe he is as powerful as an aerial mage," muttered Mary. "An aerial mage can keep a weak enhancement like that running all day easy."

"Which then begs the question what an aerial mage is doing as a groundbound rent-a-thug."

"Does it matter? What matters is that guy is running combat spells on a civilian orb. I managed to get a look at it the other day, it's a general purpose American engineering model. That's not something you see normally. Someone has to have taught him how to do that."

"Maybe he figured it out on his own? You shouldn't assume he's dumb just because he's black, my dear."

"I think no such thing! And don't call me dear!"

"But you are assuming he couldn't figure out how to apply an enhancement using a civilian orb on his own. If he's combat mage material, then maybe he actually had combat mage training, and he's just decided he likes working as a civilian."

"Doubtful. We've confirmed he's American."

Elya focused on Mary. "Why should that matter?"

There was a definite blush on Mary's face as she muttered, "There's an unofficial policy not to recruit... people of color... to the aerial mages." Her blush grew more pronounced at the patronizing look Elya bestowed on her.

"Don't worry dear. America is still a young nation. God knows the Empire has its own share of foolishness in its history," stated Elya, her words dripping sympathy.

Mary couldn't keep the scowl off her face. "All right, first, I'm Legadonian, insulting America is not going to work on me. Second, history, really? Might I remind you the Empire has managed to piss off every single civilized country in the world right now?"

"Bah. Nothing but the jealousy of the lesser toward their betters."

"Finally," growled Mary. "The real point I'm trying to make is that there's no way this Joe Barrow learned enhancement magic from an official trainer. Considering he's part of an American company that was founded recently, and who are now associated with a close friend of Lena Fernandez, it bears investigation."

Elya smirked and made a show of counting on her fingers. "Joe to his company. Company to Murdoch. Murdoch to Lena. Lena to Tanya. Wow, only four degrees of separation from our objective. Tenuous, much?"

"Shut up, Roth. It's not like we have any better leads."

This was in fact, true. Over the past three months they'd done their absolute best to put pressure on every single facet of Lena Fernandez' past and Tina Kurosawa's former associates, and had been met with a stone wall at every turn. Even the warrant that had been out for the gang leader Murdoch due to suspicion of his involvement in the big shootout had to be withdrawn due to lack of evidence. One would think a known gangster would have all sorts of weaknesses, but the man had cleaned up any traces with an efficiency that was as impressive as it was annoying. He was still carrying on his protection racket, only now under the guise of a legitimate private security firm. Even the 'clients' he was extorting were completely tight-lipped. Elya had seen poorer operational security out of the Empire military. Their last best lead had been an identity forger named Duffy, but when they got to his hideout he'd vanished. Whether it was into hiding or to the bottom of the Thames was anyone's guess.

"All right. So our best lead is to try and convince the black behemoth to spill the beans on the people who trained him. Any suggestions?" asked Elya.

"We get Captain Strong's friend the judge to give us a warrant and we haul in him for questioning. In a matter of national security we can hold him for a week without a lawyer. Then all we have to do is get him to crack," declared Mary confidently.

Elya rubbed her head in pain. "Mary, we tried that once with Murdoch. That fucker simply stared at us for the full week and then we had to let him go with nothing to show for it except a lawsuit for false arrest. Even if Scotland Yard is willing to indulge us a second time, if a common thug can hold out on us, what are the chances we can crack someone that may have been trained by Degurechaff? You did read the part of her bio on her training methods, right?"

Mary collapsed in her seat and threw up her hands. "Then what's your bright idea?"

"We'll have to be subtle," replied Elya, a sly smile spreading across her face as she tapped her lips. "Mary dear, I do believe this may be the time to exercise our feminine wiles."

"W-what? You mean you want to... to..." spluttered Mary.

"Seduce him? If we have to. And really, think of that body. Would it really be such a hardship?"

"Well, I'll just leave it to you then."

Elya laughed and threw some money down, then swiftly got up and tugged Mary up as well. "None of that dear, come along, we have to be quick!"

"What... we're going after him now?"

"Don't be silly, we're going shopping. Interpol gave as an expense account, and it's time to use it. Dresses, makeup, hairstyling... if we're doing this we're doing it right!"

"Look, why do you even need me along?"

"Two reasons. One, most men have a type, and it might be your homely girl-next-door look is his."

"H-homely..?"

"And second, it's always good to have a wingman. Don't worry, your job will be to make me look good in comparison. It should come naturally to you."

"...I hope you catch gonorrhea and rot in hell."

"That's the spirit. And remember, if all else fails, there is not a straight man on the face of the earth that can say no to a threesome!"

"Three - no, I changed my mind, we're not doing this. It's immoral... it's unethical...it's - Roth! Slow down!"

* * *

**August 3, 1927, Reina del Angel, Unified States**

I couldn't believe this was happening. I'd blame it on Being X except this was too absurd even for that absurdity.

It turned out the movie industry was in a transitional phase between silent and talking pictures. So when Hughes had brought me along to audition, instead of being up against a bevy of industry veterans I was up against a bevy of silent movie beauties who had no vocal training and professional singers and radio stars who'd never been in front of a camera. Still, seeing as how I had experience with neither, you would think they would find someone else to play their villain. But no, Hughes had sat in on the auditions and insisted I was the only one for him.

Things only got worse when I took to the air for the first time. Turns out, American mages had all the bad habits I'd worked hard to break in the 203rd, and then some. It didn't help that the M27 was a much better orb than their 4U models. Even when I held back, it was obvious at a glance that I was a much better mage. When people started noticing this, I was deathly afraid I'd blown my cover.

Instead, I found myself an object of both admiration and jealousy from the American mages, and when they weren't busy challenging me the male ones were trying to flirt with me. Hughes didn't improve matters - once he realized what was going on, he started redesigning the aerial battles, this time with me as the choreographer.

Still, at least the whole affair wouldn't last longer than a couple of weeks, or so I thought. In spite of being the main villain, Tanya had relatively few lines, the shooting for which could be done in a couple of days. The fight scenes took a lot longer, but here there was a hard limit on how long the army was willing to lose a company of mages, so again, the whole thing would have to be wrapped up quickly.

Now it was past two weeks, the American mages had returned to their posts much to my relief, I'd pocketed a cool $5,000 for my efforts, and I should have already been on my way back to the east coast. Instead, I was staring down Hughes as he explained to me how he was considering expanding the role of Tanya in the movie, and it might be quite a while before shooting could be finished.

Fighting to keep a lid on my temper, I replied, "Not a chance. Our contract is already concluded, I've done what you asked of me, now I need to get back to my proper job!"

"Well of course I'll pay you! Name your price!"

I was tempted to blow him off, but then I remembered he was the owner of a major company and the senior partner in our business relationship. Refusing to his face would be impolitic. But since he had asked me to name my price, I shot back, "$5,000 a day. And by that I mean $5,000 for every day I have to spend in Reina, including Sundays."

"Deal! I'll get the contract drawn up!"

As he left after shaking my hand, I was left in a daze. $5,000 a day whether I worked or not! There was no way an amateur thespian like myself was worth that much!

I spent several minutes puzzling over Hughes' strange insistence. Then it clicked, and I could only curse myself for missing the obvious. Suddenly, several interactions I'd had with the man was thrown into a new light. Even though he was married, Hughes would often go out of his way to invite and escort me to various nightclubs and posh restaurants, ostensibly to introduce me to his friends in the film industry. Fool that I was, I'd taken his reasoning at face value, even though it was clear in hindsight that the man had been courting me.

This was a situation that required a bit of thinking. Now that I was going through puberty it was pretty obvious I'd retained my preferences from my past life. One of the constant sources of embarrassment had been how hard I'd had to fight to keep from openly ogling all the beautiful Hollywood ladies that I was running into on a daily basis. As for men, while I could intellectually appreciate a handsome man (and Hughes was handsome indeed), I felt no attraction towards them. But on the other hand, neither did I feel disgust at the thought of doing the dirty with a man. If it was someone incredibly rich and generous, I felt I could bear acting as their mistress for the sake of financial security.

Now, Hughes did check the boxes for very rich and very generous - he was paying $5,000 a day simply for my company! As a bonus, he was also young and good looking. The fact that he was married was neither here nor there. However, just because I could do something didn't mean I wanted to, and right now I was earning enough in my current work that I had no need to seek such alternate sources of income. Finally, and most importantly, there was no way I could keep my true identity a secret through any kind of intimate relationship. Until the day I could walk free in my own skin, settling down with anyone, male or female, just wasn't on the cards.

The upshot of all this was that there was no way I could encourage Hughes' suit. Which would be a bit awkward since he was now paying me $5,000 a day just to keep me around. No, the best way for this to end would be if he decided he didn't want me around after all. And the best way to do that would be to irritate him until he decided he wanted me gone. And I'd just been handed the perfect tool to do so. Whatever his loins were telling him, it was obvious he really genuinely cared about this movie. So all I had to do was keep messing up under the guise of 'helping', and he would eventually grow tired of me. I'd have to be subtle though, if he realizes I was deliberately antagonizing him things might get messy.

* * *

_"No, please, let them go!" came the pained voice of a dying man. "Why are you doing this? We've already lost, please!"_

_The young girl pauses in aiming down her rifle at something in the distance. "Why, huh?" A glance into the camera where the voice was coming from. "Normally I'd talk about patriotism and following orders - but since it's just us and you're already dead..."_

_The young girl's lips stretch into a mad grin, as she goes back to aiming her rifle into the distance. "I grew up in an orphanage where I was lucky to eat twice a day and not freeze to death in winter. And then I joined the army. Hot food, warm clothes, a steady paycheck, even a pension! It was everything I dreamed of, and that... is worth fighting for."_

_The rifle fires. An explosion and screams sound in the distance._

_"Worth killing for."_

_It fires again. Another explosion. Now the girl is turning around, the rifle aiming straight into the camera. Her teeth are bared in a rictus and her eyes glow in an unholy light._

_"Worth going to hell for."_

_The muzzle flash blinds the camera._

* * *

I carefully concealed my smirk as I studied playback of the latest scene alongside Hughes. I'd gone totally off-script, but for whatever reason the director hadn't bothered to interrupt me so I got through the entire spiel.

As Hughes turned to me with a questioning stare, I gave him my reasoning in my sweetest voice, "It just came to me as we were shooting the scene, but if we keep making Tanya look like this fanatical patriot, that's not really very villainous. So instead, she could secretly be someone who is just doing it as a job, and doesn't actually care for her country at all. Now she's a proper villain, right?"

While those words might sound good, any person of intelligence would know how stupid my reasoning was. Who wants to watch a movie about a villain who's doing everything for a paycheck instead of some grand dramatic reason or tragic flaw? How could that appeal to an audience that was used to the overacting of the silent era? And if I did have an issue with the script, I could have raised it beforehand instead of wasting time and money by going off the rails while on camera.

"Ah... I see... you also shot the scene the way it was scripted?"

"Oh, yes of course. But because we had to go through it so many times things got delayed a bit."

Strangely, Hughes didn't seem very annoyed. Instead he said, "Do you have any other suggestions for the character?"

"I might, but the thing is these thoughts only show up in the heat of the moment. If I try and plan it beforehand I just come up blank."

"That's all right. If you do have any other ideas, just go for it. We can always reshoot the scene after."

"You... don't mind?"

"Not at all. This alternate interpretation to Tanya is very interesting. We might actually end up using some of it, so feel free."

Well, damn. That backfired. Now I had to film scenes both for the original script and the 'alternative interpretation'. I would be stuck here even longer. Well, nothing for it. I'd just have to go back to the default plan of being cool and professional and never being alone with Hughes, and sooner or later he'd grow tired of paying me for nothing.

Credit to Hughes, he ended up going the distance. We shot the original script, the alternative scenes, and then he wrote brand new scenes to further flesh out the alternate. All told, I was there for a total of fifteen days under my new contract, and at the end of it there was enough footage to make two movies.

Seventy-five thousand dollars was a small fortune that I immediately transferred to a Wald bank since they were as protected from a recession as was humanly possible, after paying my taxes of course. The taxes took a large chunk, but I still cleared fifty thousand. But while the money was good, I was more relieved at finally getting away from Hughes' attention.

Naturally, he was disappointed to see me leave. Thankfully, he didn't make a scene. Instead he brought up something else that we'd argued about it. "Are you sure you don't want your real name on the billing?"

"I'm absolutely sure. Jennifer Ecks is a professional mage and security specialist, not an actress. While the money was nice, I won't be doing this again. Put down the actress who played Tanya as Jenny E. and leave it be."

He finally seemed to get the hint that I really wanted to make a clean break from him and Hollywood, and he saw me off.

As the plane took off for New York (along with seven other stops on the way. Air travel in this time _sucked_), I was already turning my mind back to my various businesses and all the messages I'd received over the past weeks.

Velvet Iron Protection had continued expanding and now had 200 agents and 8 mages on the payroll including me and Barrow. There had been a few injuries while I was away but no fatalities or major incidents.

Speaking of Barrow, Tilbury Security in Londinium was apparently going from strength to strength. He'd also found himself a girlfriend, or something? Reports were unclear.

Household Magicks had 12 C-rank mages including Lin, and one B-rank mage who was currently too young for combat training, so I'd snapped him up for Lin instead. I figured once he got close to eighteen I could persuade him to transfer to the aerial mage group I was building. As for Household Magicks themselves, even with so many mages they were worked off their feet meeting the demand for their services. Word was spreading nicely, it seemed.

Best news of all, the government had come through with a big contract for the M27 orb. Hughes Magic Works was riding high on the success and raring to go into multi-core territory. That was where I needed to pay the most direct attention to.

While this whole film nonsense had proven surprisingly profitable, I was glad to put it behind me. My only worry was that John Hughes' desire to be a filmmaker might end up draining his fortune and leaving his businesses in the lurch. After all, look at how much money he'd spent holding on to a complete amateur like me. Thinking with his dick was going to get him in a lot of trouble. Hopefully the massive losses he'll sustain when this movie flops will teach him a bit of caution.

_A\N: Writing Elya - Mary interactions has proven surprisingly entertaining for me. Comment, would you kindly?_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**September 14, 1927, Berun, The Empire**

Zettour frowned as he studied the young woman in front of him. He then gave a deep sigh before speaking. "Lieutenant Serebryakov, I know you are no longer in my chain of command. Still, I would ask you to reconsider. You are one of the most talented and skilled mages in the Empire. It will be painful to lose your experience, and you will be throwing away years of hard work that you've put into your career. Are you sure you wish to resign?"

"Quite sure, General. The truth is I was conscripted into the army when the Empire was desperate for mages. Becoming an officer is already far more than I ever dreamed of. Now the war is over and the Empire no longer needs me. After all, I hear they're forming a new elite mage battalion armed with dual-core orbs. The 207th, I believe."

There was a moment of silence as Zettour considered her words. They were rather hard to refute. It had cost the lives of several mages, but a few months back the Empire had finally gotten enough mages capable of handling the Type 97 up to an adequate standard, and these mages now formed the new rapid-response aerial mage battalion, the 207th.

The reason it had taken this long was because after the casualties sustained in the first few months of trying to follow Degurechaff's training methods, the people handling the training had finally admitted defeat and scaled back to a more traditional and less risky training format. Success using the new method was much lower - a significant number of mages simply seemed unable to handle dual-core orbs at the necessary level of skill - but at least no one died.

It was perhaps most telling, though, that of the members of the 207th, there were only five from the former 203rd - and all five of those were mages that joined later rather than being part of the founding cadre personally trained by Degurechaff. From the first most experienced batch of dual-core pioneers, not a single one had been invited to take up the Elenium Type 97 once more, instead being consigned to using the Standard Type 24 that was the regular computation orb used by the Empire's aerial mages.

Zettour judged that if any of them had put loyalty to the Empire above loyalty to their commanding officer, this treatment would have guaranteed that was no longer the case.

Truth be told, Lieutenant Serebryakov wouldn't even be the first member of the 203rd to leave the military for greener pastures. She was, however, the most famous. Not only was she known to be the second deadliest fighter of the 203rd after Degurechaff, but she was also well known to be Degurechaff's protégé, handpicked for rapid advancement by the child prodigy long before the concept of the 203rd even existed.

She, more than any other member, served as something of a rallying point for all those people who objected to the surrendering of the Major to the war crimes tribunal as well as the sidelining of the surviving heroes of the 203rd. Zettour himself had been planning to cultivate her as part of the small but growing anti-Kaiser faction in the military. Not that they actually opposed the Kaiser, oh no, that would be treason! This faction simply felt that the Kaiser and the royal court should not be permitted to interfere in military affairs. Perhaps a new constitution further demarcating the rights and responsibilities of the crown, much like they have in Albion. In particular, Serebryakov was an idol to the strong Slavic minority in the Empire, especially since word had gotten around about her family being former Rus aristocrats. Everyone loves a magical princess story.

This was why Zettour was caught by surprise when the lieutenant handed in her resignation. Up to this point, she had been a very active figure among those agitating for an Imperial pardon for Degurechaff. To see her suddenly give all that up - Zettour would confess himself intrigued. This is why he invited her in for this conversation. And while on the surface her reasoning was not incorrect, he was convinced there was more going on, so he decided to poke her a bit. "I know the current political climate is not the best. And you are understandably upset over what happened with Major Degurechaff. Yet, it was the Major who pushed you for officership. Forgive me for speaking plainly, but it seems a bit ungrateful to throw away all the effort she made to promote your career."

Serebryakov's eyes flashed anger for a moment, before her expression was once more professionally blank. "I am sorry you feel that way, General. But it was the Major who taught me about something she called the sunk cost fallacy. Just because you have put effort into something doesn't mean you should hold on to it when it becomes more trouble than it's worth. While I will miss the army, right now I believe my future lies elsewhere."

"Oh?" Zettour carefully studied the young woman but he couldn't see past her blank face. Still, his instinct was telling him there was more to this than met the eye. "And what do you see in your future, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not certain, but I think I'm going to travel. I've got a bit of money saved up, and I've always wanted to see the world."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"I thought I might start with the Unified States. After that, we'll see."

"I see." Zettour briefly pondered this, then shrugged. "Well, if your mind is made up, I can't stop you. Do take care of yourself Lieutenant."

"Thank you sir. And good luck to you too."

As Visha got up to leave, Zettour spoke up again. "You know Lieutenant, given everything, I can see why a person might want to go abroad. Still, that doesn't mean there aren't places within the Empire that one can't find some peace and quiet far from the madding crowd. In particular, I would draw your attention to our new territories in Congo. We took the place over from the French, but Imperial writ runs very lightly in the country. It's almost all in the hands of various corporations. Even though it is now Empire territory, as long as one stays away from the largest cities, one can live completely free from official oversight. As good a place as any for someone with reasons to avoid official scrutiny. And you might even find old friends there. I believe some members of the 203rd have been assigned to that territory."

The lieutenant looked at the general for a moment, then said, "I do believe I understand. I'll certainly keep it in mind. I might even recommend it to... my friends. Thank you General, for everything."

Zettour gave a deep sigh as the door closed behind Serebryakov. _It is somewhat absurd just how much one underage Major can affect an Empire. Even in absence._

* * *

Later that same evening, Visha sat in small apartment and went through her correspondence. She needed to make sure all her affairs were in order. After finishing her work, she once more turned to the letter that had precipitated her current actions.

It was on the surface nothing more than a bawdy message from one close friend to another describing her latest romantic exploits. Filled with enough innuendo to make Visha blush, Elya went into often excessive detail describing her latest boyfriend. The phrase 'hung like a horse' was one Visha had never actually seen used in real life to describe someone, and she would have been happy for it to stay that way.

Completely absent was any mention of Elya's work for Interpol, apart from a disclaimer that she couldn't say anything for reasons of confidentiality. If that was all, Visha would have consigned the letter to the back of her drawer where it belonged. But, buried within the text, was one seemingly throwaway line,_"Funny how life can take a sudden turn, isn't it?"_

_Life can take a sudden turn. _

That was one of the code phrases Elya and Visha had set up between them before Elya left for Londinium. It was one of the most important. It told Visha that the letter contained extremely urgent information regarding Major Degurechaff.

At first, Visha had thought Elya wanted her to come to Londinium to meet her new boyfriend. However, a different line had caught her attention. One where Elya had mentioned, almost in passing, that her boyfriend Barrow had been trained as a mage in New York at the Velvet Iron Protection company by a 'tiny hardass Irish bitch'. Leave out the Irish part, and one could call it a crude but accurate description of the Major.

Visha was then faced with a choice. Head to Londinium to speak to this Barrow and get some solid information. Or take a leap of faith and head directly for New York.

In the end, the choice was obvious. Elya's Interpol colleagues were currently in Londinium. If she was spotted, they might very well wonder what Visha was doing poking around there. If Barrow wasn't already on their radar, then Visha would not be the one to bring him to their attention. No, it was a long shot, but it would be much safer for everyone if she headed directly to New York.

As had become her habit in the years since she last saw her, Visha said a soft prayer directed towards her former superior. _Stay safe, Major. I swear I'll find you soon. Just stay safe for a little longer._

* * *

**September 24, 1927, Londinium, Albion**

Elya walked with a spring in her step as she walked into their team's office. The place had been supposed to be a temporary affair, but after almost a year the policemen who had loaned it to them had pretty much started treating it as their permanent post.

No that Elya was complaining. While rather boring at first, the last month had made up for all the preceding tedium. Striding into the room, she noticed Mary Sioux was already there, and send out a greeting, "Morning, Mary dear!"

"Roth." came the neutral reply. "You look happy."

"Oh, I am happy! It's such a beautiful day!" replied Elya cheerfully. Then she dropped her voice to a confidential murmur, "The only real problem is that I'm still rather sore... _down there_. Joe is always so enthusiastic when he gets the weekend off..."

"Roth, for the last time, I do NOT need to know about your sex life!"

"Really? You always seem so eager to hear about Joe..."

"About any information you might have gotten from him! Not the length of his dick!"

"You know, you could just find out first hand. I offered, and Joe's agreeable..."

"Still mixing business with pleasure, Lieutenant?" The interruption came from Captain Strong as he came in.

"Imperial efficiency at work, Captain!" Elya replied cheerfully.

"Yes well, we need to show some results soon to justify our expense accounts. Speaking of which, you called this meeting Ensign. Let's get started, shall we."

"Yes, let's." With one last glare at Elya, Mary cleared her throat. "Now, the starting point was what _little_ Elya managed to get out of her _boyfriend_. In particular, she got him to describe the field commander of Velvet Iron Protection as a red-headed female Irish mage in her twenties."

Elya nodded placidly. It was true in a sense. Barrow had said that. He had also said a few other things that Elya had left out of her report. Nothing big, but little clues that would have immediately triggered Sioux' suspicions, and which had prompted Elya herself to drop a little letter on Visha. Unfortunately, it seemed the stubborn girl had managed to turn up a few clues of her own.

Strong was nodding along as well. "Yes. And we established that wherever she was trained, it wasn't in Albion. No redheaded female aerial mages have left the Commonwealth's service in the last several years."

"I thought we agreed she was probably American? God knows they have enough Irish over there," remarked Elya.

"Yes, well, _I_ did a little more digging. I found out Velvet Iron Protection was founded within months of Tina Kurosawa disappearing from Londinium. Allowing for time to cross the Atlantic and then get settled in New York, the timeline fits perfectly."

"Yes. _If_ Tina is actually Tanya von Degurechaff. You still haven't convinced me how she could possibly keep up a disguise spell in the heart of Londinium without being spotted. Our experiment proved it was almost impossible."

Elya hid her smirk at Mary's obvious annoyance. Several weeks back, Elya had challenged Mary to prove someone could move around Londinium for days under a magical disguise without being detected. The resulting attempts had set off so many alarms a Scotland Yard captain had come down in person to tell them to cease and desist.

"Well, unlike you, I am actually taking this seriously. And I finally have proof that we need to seriously investigate Velvet Iron Protection." So saying, Mary pulled out a pair of photographs. The pictures were clearly candid images taken of two women. One was a stocky young woman of average height and dark hair dressed in formal attire. The other, taken at a much greater distance, showed a short, slim young woman with lighter hair in what looked like a combat uniform of some kind. "I give you - Lydia Brown, CEO of Velvet Iron. And Jennifer Ecks, their field commander."

Both Elya and the Captain immediately sat up. "Where did you get these from?" asked Captain Strong. "The FBI said they had nothing on either of them."

"After the FBI came up blank, I hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to get their pictures as well as a first hand description. According to them, the two of them are very careful, that's why it took so long."

"And what does this tell us? I mean, yes, I can see some similarities to our targets," admitted Elya, "But you have to admit, the picture quality is pretty bad."

"True, but the picture is only half of it. The other part is the description. In particular, the detectives are absolutely confident that Jennifer Ecks is only a little over five feet tall. Now you tell me, what are the odds of there being two female mages who are that short and showed up in New York at just the right time!"

"She could still be American..."

"Actually no," spoke up Captain Strong. "Or at least, not trained by us. I was going to mention this earlier, but I've been doing some digging of my own. No redheaded female mages left American service recently either."

Elya knew a losing argument when she saw one. She would have to start backing down or risk raising suspicion. "All right then. It's quite the growth spurt if it is her, but Jennifer Ecks might just be worth looking into. So, does that mean we're heading to New York?"

"Indeed it does. Better get packing, ladies, we should be underway within the week. I'll notify our hosts." So saying, Captain Strong took his leave and headed out.

As Mary gathered up her documents, she glanced at Elya and said snidely, "Better say goodbye to your boytoy, Roth. You'll soon have to be working somewhere other than on your back."

"Oh my dear, I don't just work on my _back_. Darling Joe is always open to experimentation."

"Arrgh! Have you no shame?"

"Shame is for the weak."

"You are impossible..."

As Elya engaged in another battle of banter with her colleague, she couldn't help but think of her friend. _I hope you move fast, Visha. I can't buy you any more time._

* * *

**September 26, 1927, New York, Unified States**

I sat in my New York office and scowled down at the paper. Unusually for me, I wasn't reading the financial or politics sections. No, what I was looking at was the section on entertainment. In particular, I was looking at an article that was reporting that John Hughes' latest release _Arenne_ had broken all box office records in its opening week. In particular, a large portion of the article was devoted to gushing about the 'mysterious Jenny E' and how she had completely stolen the show with her portrayal of the Devil of the Rhine.

In fact, the way this and other articles had gone on, it almost sounded as if the film was focused mostly on my character, with the American hero and his beautiful wife relegated to supporting roles. I snorted in disbelief. It was obvious the papers were playing up the novelty factor of a cruel girl child soldier. Certainly, that damn priest hadn't helped matters. Some famous proselytizer had gone on national radio denouncing my role as a blatant portrayal of a 'fallen woman' and 'original sin', and naturally all that had done was send audiences packing the theaters to see what was so heinous about my act. Never mind my character was not even the focus of the movie!

I got my first inkling of trouble when Lena and Jenny had come back from the film's New York premiere. Hughes had been kind enough to mail me a pair of tickets, but since I had absolutely no interest in seeing the movie all over again, I'd given them to Lena and Jenny. When the two came back, Jenny was gushing about how amazing and scary and 'awesome' I had been and insisted on getting my autograph so she could prove to her classmates that she'd actually met Jenny E.

Lena, on the other hand, had given me a raised eyebrow and asked if starring in a million-dollar epic was my idea of 'laying low'. When I pointed out I wasn't the star (Jenny E had the smallest billing on the posters) and that the difference between the movie role and the real me was so obvious no one could confuse the two, she had been singularly unimpressed.

Now, a little over a week later, it was clear I had miscalculated. I should have remembered a young female action villain was an incredibly novel concept at this time. Novel enough to blow an otherwise average film all out of proportion. I honestly felt a bit bad for my co-stars who had been upstaged by all the critics focusing on the villain. At least I could take solace that a lot of attention was also being paid to the aerial battle scenes. I'd worked hard on those and they were the one thing about the movie I was actually proud of.

Of course, all this attention was not a good thing at all. Everyone wanted to know who Jenny E was. Hughes seemed to be playing up the 'woman of mystery' angle for all it was worth, judging by his interviews, but I knew it was only a matter of time before my identity leaked. If nothing else, the aerial mages I'd worked with all knew my full name and that I was from New York. And that was only the beginning. Sitting at my elbow was a telegram from Hughes. Apparently, he was already thinking of a sequel, _Brest_, and was eager to see me reprise my role as Tanya von Degurechaff. He opened with an offer of $80,000, and said he was open to negotiation.

I was sweating trying to figure out how my identity as Jennifer Ecks could possibly survive the storm of attention coming my way, when the office intercom rang.

"Ma'am, there's a prospective candidate here to see you. She's proven she's a mage, but wants to meet our field commander before she signs on." came the voice of the secretary.

"Send her in," I replied, doing my best to focus my mind. Business waited for neither man nor woman.

Then the door opened, and coherency fled. I was aware my mouth was hanging open, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Heart thundering in my chest, I watched as Visha walked through the door (in a very pretty but professional dress) and came to attention in front of my desk. She was smiling that shy smile of hers that she would give whenever she did something she knew I would find impressive.

I finally managed to close my mouth, but then I looked her up and down and I had to fight to keep it from falling open all over again. The last two years had been incredibly kind to my adjutant, the somewhat gawky teen being replaced by what was definitely a _woman_. Even her hair, which had usually hung limp, now had just a hint of waviness and was arranged to perfectly frame her face.

Swallowing once, I tried to bring my face under control as I said, "Good morning. Can I help you miss...?"

She gave me a disappointed little pout. "Major, do we really have to keep pretending?"

After my initial reaction, I had to admit there wasn't much point. Instead I turned on the intercom. "Denvers, hold all my calls and meetings. Nothing other than an emergency gets through until I say otherwise." Cutting off before the secretary could acknowledge, I turned my attention back to Visha.

"Visha, how on earth did..." I paused. Talking at Visha from across a desk just felt _wrong_ somehow. Certainly, I didn't want there to be any chance of being overheard. Gesturing to Visha to sit down in the guest chair, I got up and locked the office door. Then I drew the curtain on the small window, before pulling up another chair so we could sit facing each other. And then I dropped my illusion, so I could talk to her with my real face.

Leaning forward so we could speak softly, I said, "Congratulations Visha, you've managed to surprise me. Now spill. How did you do it?"

She gave me an uncharacteristically coy smile as she replied, "Well Major, let's just say I have friends in Interpol and leave it at that."

I knew about Interpol of course. I was honestly flattered that they'd feel the need to build an entire international police force just to chase me down. Now though, my stomach clenched in dread as I considered the implications of Visha's words. "Interpol knows where I am?"

"Not for certain, I think. But they're definitely investigating Velvet Iron. Last I heard the team was in Londinium, but by now they could already be here. Of course," she paused, and gave me a look so disappointed I immediately felt a spike of guilt, "Any doubts on their part will disappear the minute they see that picture."

I felt myself go pale. Safe in the knowledge that they were all back in the Empire, I'd never dreamed any of my subordinates would ever see my amateur thespian attempts. "You... you saw that?"

"I had time to take in a movie as I was waiting for you to come back from Jersey. Seriously Major, what possessed you to star in a movie about yourself with your real face on?"

I scowled. "Why does everyone keep saying that? The movie is not about me, and I'm not the star, just the villain! And besides, everyone just thought it was an illusion."

Visha had looked like she wanted to interrupt, but then she focused on my last statement. "So you told everyone you were going to put on an illusion of the Argent, and then you just dropped the illusion and went from there?"

I scoffed. "Of course not. I cast an illusion of my real self, and this time I put extra power in the illusion so it would be detectable. Otherwise the other mages would have wondered why they couldn't detect anything - "

"Other mages?! Other? Oh my god, I thought those battle scenes looked too realistic, you were seriously parading around in your real face around other aerial mages? Please tell me they were civilian contractors?"

"Ah, no, they were on loan from the US Army..."

"Major..." I felt my stomach churn as Visha stared at me with big teary eyes. "Why are you being so reckless? Are you really so frustrated?"

Visha's words brought me up short. Looking back, I couldn't help but admit she had a point. At first I had been so cautious. But as I earned more, as my business prospered, and as no one ever challenged my assumed identity, I realized I had grown complacent. Now if it hadn't been for Visha's warning, I might have been caught completely off guard by Interpol.

Reaching forward, I took Visha's hands in my own. Before anything else, I needed to calm her down. A panicking adjutant was no good to me, and it was obvious I needed the help. Judging by the pleased blush that crossed her face, it seemed my confident demeanor was once more doing its job in assuaging doubts.

"You're right Visha. I've been growing careless. Without you there to keep me centered I've been growing complacent. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."

Her blush was only intensifying. Same old Visha, still unable to take a compliment. Hiding my own smile, I continued, "Thank you, Visha, for everything. Now, I'll be needing your help from here on. As a wanted woman, I've gotten way too comfortable in one place. I think it's high time I started moving again."

Visha immediately straightened up in her seat. "Of course, Major! What are your orders?"

Getting up, I went to the office safe that stored sensitive documents, and pulled out a particular folder. "This is a request from one of our clients that came in a couple of weeks ago. I was wondering if I would even accept, but I do believe this is perfect for our current needs." Retaking my seat, I continued, "You see, one of my clients is in the import business, bringing in exotic products for domestic consumption. Velvet Iron acts as warehouse security. About a year ago, this client decided to do a bit of upstream vertical integration."

On seeing Visha's blank face, I translated the business jargon, "He decided to buy up his suppliers so he could purchase the product directly from the source instead of relying on middlemen. Now, as you might expect, he faced pushback from local competition. On top of that, the place had its own homegrown Communists to contend with. Still, it was mostly civilized until recently, when attempts to discourage his entry into the market started getting violent. He's put in a request for Velvet Iron to send someone to look into his overseas business and consult on security. I was originally unsure if we could take the job, but now it gives Jennifer Ecks the perfect excuse to leave the country for an indefinite period of time. Along with a few key employees, of course."

"Understood Major. How soon are we leaving, and where are we going?"

"As soon as humanly possible, Lieutenant. And pack for warm weather. We're going to Colombia."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**October 2, 1927, en route to Panama**

Getting transport to Colombia was easier said than done. While I'd long since managed to put together documentation showing Jennifer Ecks as an American citizen, Visha was in the country as a visitor, and as such getting permission for her to enter Colombia was much trickier.

Logically speaking, I'd have been far better off seconding her to Lena - if there's one person I trusted to train the new recruits of Velvet Iron to my standards it would be Visha. However, I had to admit I gave way to my own weakness here. The minute I'd brought Visha home to introduce her to Lena and Jenny, she had immediately taken over coffee-making duties. Quite aggressively too, when she heard Lena had been the one making my coffee at home. I wanted to tell her that Lena was quite adequate as a brewer, but when I tasted her first cup I could only wonder aloud how on earth I'd survived the past two years without her. Once I realized I'd said that in Visha's hearing, I knew trying to leave her behind would be futile. So I made the best of it, and sent out a telegram recalling Barrow to New York to take over as chief trainer. As for position of field commander, I handed that over to Samantha Young. One of the first few women I'd recruited, as well as a C-rank mage, she had shown herself an able fighter, an adequate tactician, and popular leader. She also got along well with Lena, which was vital to good coordination.

Of course, all this preparation meant is that it took several days before we were ready to leave. I will admit I was on the edge of paranoia for all of those days. Still, that didn't stop me from getting some useful work done.

During those days I touched base with all my most important allies and clients to gather information and confirm agreements, all to preemptively deal with any problems that might arise. And when I mentioned I might be heading to Central America (I was, of course, quiet about my exact destination), a surprising number of them started making all sorts of requests from me.

As a result, while my primary task there was still going to be consulting on security for my client's business, I was burdened with a large number of folders full of information and requests that I was now going through while I and Visha enjoyed the sun on the deck of our ship.

In a way, I was glad I had the work with me. That way I had something to focus on instead of fighting to keep my eyes from wandering to where Visha was sunbathing in her one-piece swimsuit. While it was good to once more confirm my reincarnation hadn't messed with my sexual preferences, drooling over those beautiful toned legs and fantasizing how they would feel wrapped around me was a less than productive use of my time.

And speaking of making productive use of time, my eyes snapped over to where the six agents from Velvet Iron were collectively proving to have far less willpower than I did. "Boys!" I sang out cheerfully, taking vindictive pleasure in how they all flinched and snapped to attention. "I'm glad to see you all so free. Let us make sure you are ready for the heat of the South American jungle shall we? Five laps around the deck. NOW!"

As they stampeded off, I could only wish I could deal with the leering sailors so easily. I had to content myself with giving those worthies my best death glare. Visha gave a small chuckle as she looked up from her own reading and said to me, "I notice you didn't tell me to join them. Shouldn't I be keeping in shape as well?"

"Your shape is already perfect." I muttered without thinking. Realizing what I'd said as she started to blush, I quickly continued, "After all, you were in the Imperial army until recently. I try my best, but those boys just aren't up to that standard quite yet."

This was not quite true. Five of the six were veterans of the various skirmishes against the gangs of New York, and I'd certainly put them as equal to the average infantryman. The sixth was the young B-rank mage that my testing teams had discovered. Even though he was only sixteen, I'd pulled him out of Household Magicks and brought him along with me. It takes a long time to train a decent aerial mage, after all, and this trip to Colombia was the ideal opportunity. Seeing as how the country didn't even have a formal aerial mage corps, I expected their detection network to be largely non-existent. An ideal place to discreetly train a young mage as well as get myself back into combat trim.

Visha simply nodded her acceptance and went back to her reading. I gave a mental sigh of relief. Truly, it was amazing how she could be so innocent in spite of her wartime experience. Thankfully, her habit of paying all her attention to her commanding officer meant that as long as I was around, she didn't seem to notice how every male in the vicinity seemed to drop 50 IQ points whenever she chose to reveal the day's swimsuit of choice. In a way I had to admire her self-confidence and preparedness. She seemed to be so happy to have a chance to wear them that whenever she would twirl around in them and ask for my opinion I didn't have the heart to tell her that it would be much better for my blood pressure if she hid herself under a tent.

As for me? Since I still had nothing worth flaunting, a T-shirt and shorts was all I needed or desired. Once I was sure the nearest males were no longer ogling my adjutant (or at least, being discreet about it), I went back to my own homework.

If I was to consult on my client's business, it was only right that I make myself as much of an expert on the subject as I could. While my specialty was security, I was fairly certain at least some of the problems my client was facing was due to questionable business practices on the part of his overseers. So, in the days leading up to this trip, I'd devoted quite a bit of time to studying the intricacies of coffee cultivation.

Coffee was big business in this world's Colombia, much as it was in my own, and America was one of their biggest customers. My client wanted to establish and operate plantations of his own rather than relying on middlemen to gather his supply, and it was my job to shoot anything that would cause problems for his business plan. Hopefully, the shooting would stay figurative. While I didn't know the prevailing laws of Colombia, I very much doubted they would look kindly on foreigners killing their citizens, no matter how justifiable the act of self-defense. Still, this was a job I was actually enthusiastic about, since Visha's brewing skill had reached new heights using the beans my client imported.

However, it wasn't coffee that currently concerned the report in my hand. No, what I was reading was the current state of Colombian agriculture regarding cannabis and opium.

Thanks to Hollywood, I had been aware in my past life about the fearsomeness of 'Colombian drug cartels' and how they pretty much supplied the world with every variety of illegal narcotics. In this world, at this time, Colombia was still mostly on the side of the angels and coffee. Coca, opium, and cannabis were all grown, but in relatively small amounts.

Now, I had absolutely no interest in becoming a drug-runner of some kind. Whatever I may have been accused of, I was a law abiding person, and I had no interest in joining the ranks of career criminals that make up the illegal drug dealers of the world. As such, I had no interest in the coca plant, since cocaine had been completely banned in most countries outside of a few very limited medical applications. Cannabis and opium on the other hand, were a very different ball game.

In the current state of technology, opium was a very useful and necessary plant. All the best painkillers were opiates, and some of these, like morphine and codeine, were so effective they were still seeing use even in my original life. Every hospital worth the name consumed large quantities of these drugs. In particular, my ally in New Jersey, the Mayor Hague, was deeply interested in promoting the city's healthcare system, and it is he who landed this situation in my lap. It seemed that America had long since banned commercial cultivation of opium, and relied almost entirely on imports from Asia to meet its needs. However, the recent war in Europe had drastically disrupted this vital supply. While the supply had once more stabilized, it had thrown something of a scare into the US medical industry and they were looking for an alternate source of the raw material to protect themselves from future shocks.

If the medical industry relied heavily on opium, the recreational side was using it less and less. The Americans were cracking down heavily on recreational uses of the drug. Some of my clients in Qintown had suffered from searches and raids by the police, and they were in turn looking for a legal way to provide their clients with the intoxication they craved. Alcohol was out, since Prohibition was still going strong. That brought me to cannabis, or marijuana if you will. While the US did have laws putting a tax on the substance, there were no laws at the Federal level outright forbidding its import and sale. While some states did have restrictions on its use, outright prohibition was rare. New York, for example, currently required a medical prescription to obtain the drug. How a recreational user might obtain a prescription was not my concern. There was a legal demand, and it was up to me to fulfill it.

Of course, all this were but secondary goals. My primary goal was to stabilize my client's coffee supply. If I had the time and opportunity I might seek some sources of opium and cannabis for my other friends, but it was not my main focus.

Well, no, my main focus wasn't the coffee either. My number one priority was to keep from getting arrested. Luckily, Colombia had nothing to do with Interpol, although whether they would hold out if America turned on the pressure was an open question.

Now that I thought about it, perhaps the issue of these drugs might not be so trivial. I would need to be proactive to stymie Interpol's efforts. America's habit of treating Central America as its personal backyard meant diplomatic relations were kind of chilly between them and Colombia. It surely wouldn't take much to convince them that cooperating with Interpol was against their best interests? If I could present myself as a major investor interested in expanding Colombia's cash crops into the pharmaceutical field, if I could make a friend of myself to the current power players - then at that point, their natural anti-American sentiment should see them opposing any attempt to arrest me.

In fact, why just stop there? Money was all well and good, but part of the reason America had been able to run roughshod over the nations of Central and South America was their lack of a proper air force or mage corps. If I dangled in front of them the possibility of a professional mage corps capable of protecting their borders from foreign interference, their government should be willing to resist any attempt to extradite me. Plus, any mage I trained would be one more soldier between me and my pursuers. Two birds, one stone.

With visions of a safe tropical haven dancing through my head, I threw myself eagerly into my studies.

* * *

**October 9, 1927, New York**

"So, Lieutenant, explain to me why I am escorting you ladies to the cinema?" asked Captain Robert Strong. He glanced down to where Elya was cheerfully hanging off his arm, while a scowling Mary stomped along on his other side. "And are you sure your boyfriend won't rip my head off when he finds out?"

"Hey, I suggested making this a double or even triple date. Blame Ms. Killjoy over there if you get put in traction," came the airy reply.

"No. No more _dates,"_ came the hissed reply from Mary. "I had to put up with your loose behavior for months in Londinium -"

"For a good cause!"

"Then we _somehow _ended up on the exact same boat to New York and now I couldn't even get away from the two of you being disgusting in public-"

"Not my fault Joe got recalled at the same time!" sang Elya.

"_Then_ we get here to find out our target has fled to Central America!" Mary finished with almost a shriek. "And now you want to drag me along on even more _dates_? No! I have had it! The only reason I'm even here is because you claimed to have vital information on Jennifer Ecks! In fact, why are we even going into the cinema? I refuse to take one more step until you give me a proper explanation!"

As Mary planted her feet and crossed her arms, Elya rolled her eyes. "Fine, if you want an explanation - take a peek at that movie poster."

The poster was a large display right outside the cinema displaying the current offering, an obvious war movie called _Arenne_. Scowling at it, Mary remarked, "So it's a picture about one of Degurechaff's biggest crimes. What of it?"

"Notice the name at the bottom of the billing list?"

Mary glanced at it, then paused. "Jenny E... are you serious? How do you know that's the same person?"

"You would too, if you read the gossip magazines," came the smug reply. "There was an article just yesterday leaking the true identity of Jenny E as, and I quote, 'petite and fiery red-headed beauty Jennifer Ecks lifted from obscurity into stardom by the vision of producer John Hughes' end quote."

"All right so it might be her..."

"Want to know what else the article said?" asked Elya, the smugness radiating off of her.

"Lieutenant," came a mild warning from Captain Strong.

"Oh all right, spoil my fun," Elya pouted. "The article also mentioned that Jenny E played the role of Tanya von Degurechaff in the movie... and that she happened to be an aerial mage that was, and this is another quote, 'good enough to give tips to our boys from the 117th Mage Wing'."

Now even Captain Strong stopped to stare at her. "Are you telling me that Degurechaff went and starred in a film where she was playing as _herself_?"

"I'm saying there's no way Jennifer Ecks could actually be Degurechaff. I was actually beginning to believe the case Mary was putting forward, but you have to admit, only an utter lunatic would do something like while she's on the run from half the planet." Elya didn't bother hiding the note of disappointment in her voice. Of course, the disappointment was more for having sent her friend Visha on a wild goose chase, but her colleagues didn't need to know that.

Both Captain Strong and Mary chewed on this for a long moment. Then Mary shook herself and spoke, "No! I refuse to give up that easily! You've seen the trial transcripts, Degurechaff is nothing if not arrogant in her abilities! For all we know, she actually is crazy enough to do something like this! In fact, if she was already planning to leave the country, it would be just like her to do this as a final taunt before leaving!"

"Ensign," drawled Elya, "Might I remind you that unlike you, I've actually met the girl? From our brief conversation, she struck me as intensely no-nonsense and practical. Dramatic gestures like this seem very much out of character."

"All right, that's enough," broke in Strong. "I admit I'm feeling confused myself. But since the Lieutenant here has gone to the trouble of renting us a box for the show, let's just go and see Jennifer Ecks in action, shall we?"

* * *

Later that evening saw the trio walking out of the theater in a daze. By silent consensus none of them spoke until they reached their current office.

Elya was the one to break the silence. "It was a pretty good movie. I think it might do well in Berun, even with the anti-Empire slant."

"Oh yes, very good indeed. Particularly _Jenny E_." growled Mary. "That woman looked almost identical to Degurechaff! No make-up is that good!"

"If she's a mage she could very well be using an illusion."

"And the way she spoke? You've got to admit, that was a damn convincing Prussian accent! Almost as if she were a Berun native! Some of those lines were quoted from her trial, and they sure sounded exactly like our recordings of her!"

"It's called acting," came the weak response.

"And her flying!" Mary continued, heedless of Elya's rebuttal. "That was actual flight on the camera, and she was damn good! Too good to be some random unknown!"

Captain Strong cleared his throat. "I do believe you ladies are missing the forest for the trees. If that really is Tanya von Degurechaff, then those movie scenes mean _someone just handed her a military grade computation orb_."

You could hear a pin drop as everyone contemplated this. Mary said weakly, "It was probably only for the movie... they couldn't just let her keep it."

"I'm not so sure at all. The one who supposedly found her was the producer John Hughes, right?" At Elya's confirming nod, Strong continued, "Well, here's a tidbit that came my way which was supposed to be need to know... and I'm deciding you two now need to know. Recently, the US Army decided to upgrade their flight orbs to a newer, better model. The new orb is called the Hughes M27."

"Hughes? The same Hughes as the director?" asked Elya, sitting down in shock.

"I don't know. But I'm going to shake every damn tree until I find out."

"Wait... wait just a damn minute!" cried Elya, fist thumping down on her armrest. "Are you telling me that Tanya von Degurechaff came to America - and was somehow involved in the development of a brand new computation orb?"

"I'm saying that's what we need to find out..."

"Because, Captain Strong," interrupted Elya. "It all seems very convenient how Degurechaff supposedly broke out of lawful custody and disappeared into the ether - and the next thing we know, she's here in America. Training mages. Holding important positions in powerful companies. Developing new mage orbs. Hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Quite busy for a supposed prisoner on the run. Not like a fugitive at all, in fact."

The temperature in the room dropped to freezing as Elya's words washed over all present. "I'm not sure I like what you're implying, Lieutenant." growled Strong.

"I'm not implying anything," replied Elya with a cold smile. "I'm saying it wouldn't be the first time in a government that the left hand doesn't know what the right is doing."

"Don't you dare!" hissed Mary. "We all know it was her own people that broke her out!"

"No, we don't!" cried Elya, leaping to her feet and towering over the younger girl. "We KNOW nothing! All we have is speculation built on conjecture and supported by guesswork! And right now, our best damn guess is that Degurechaff's new identity has been working with the US Government all along! You tell me what I'm supposed to think!"

"LADIES!" The uncharacteristic roar from the Captain brought them both up short and to involuntary attention. "I understand this is a very tense situation. The Lieutenant's suspicions are understandable given the circumstances. So this is what's going to happen. I'm going to NavInt and find out everything I can about where these new orbs are coming from. And you two are going to track down this John Hughes and do everything you can to make him talk! Because let's be clear, I am NOT pleased that someone in my own government may be playing fast and loose with international law."

There was a long moment of silence, then Elya touched her forehead in a sardonic salute. "Very well sir. Come on Mary, looks like we might be going to Hollywood. But sir, speaking of international law, I'd like you to remember that the US is also a signatory to the law forbidding research in quad-core computation orbs."

"I am aware of the implications, Lieutenant. I do believe you have your orders."

"Yes sir. Although I hope you'll understand if I take the time to send a report over to Berun. Just in case."

"Do what you must, just get going."

* * *

**October 18, 1927, Strossburi, The Empire**

Wilibald Koenig took a meandering route to a house in the middle-class suburbs of the city. It was a long distance to walk but if anyone asked he would point out what a lovely evening it was. That it also let him check for tails was a bonus.

A familiar voice bade him enter when he knocked on the door. Seated around a table were a group of familiar faces. He nodded to each in turn. "Ernest. Becker. Vogel. Teyanen. Glad all of you could make it. Are we expecting anyone else?"

"No. I don't think so," spoke up Becker, their host.

"True," said Teyanen. "I know a few others might be interested, but none near enough to make it here."

"And what are we interested in?" barked Vogel. Koenig remembered the bearlike man to always been have been a tad impatient - a failing which ensured he never made it past Warrant Officer in spite of his experience. "You dragged us here with a bunch of vague promises and now you've been tighter than a virgin's cunt."

Koenig closed his eyes in suffering as a thud and a pained grunt sounded in the room. Neumann might have been tolerant of Vogel's crude antics, but Emilie Ernest had served under Weiss and was a stickler for propriety. She had also been one of only six women who qualified for the 203rd, not counting Degurechaff herself, and once you got to know her you learned under the prim exterior was an ice cold killer who was almost a match for the Major in ruthlessness, if not skill. There was a reason, after all, that Vogel was remaining silent after suffering what sounded like a nasty kick under the table.

Reopening his eyes, Koenig rapped his knuckles on the table before someone else said something stupid. "That's enough of that. If everyone is here, Teyanen, then you better tell us what brought you all the way down from Essen."

"Aye, well, maybe you've heard, but sometime last month Serebryakov resigned from the service."

Ernst and Vogel looked surprised, but Koenig and Becker wasn't. Koenig still had friends in Berun HQ, and Becker had been part of Degurechaff's company and so was closer to Serebraykov than most.

"Thing is, before she quit, she sent me a letter. She was off to America, apparently she wanted to indulge herself with a world tour."

"All right. And then...?"

"Then, last week I get a telegram from her. It's marked as originating from Cartagena in Colombia. I'll read it: _Teyanen all well stop Have found new work stop Extremely difficult and little pay with much danger stop Not much glory but company makes up for it stop Wish you all were here stop Visha."_

There was long pause as everyone digested this, then Vogel leaped to his feet with a howl. "Fucking finally! It's god damn time! Becker get out the beer! We're celebrating tonight and tomorrow we're heading for Cartagena! Wait where the fuck is Cartagena? Ah, who the fuck cares! She's back!"

Ernest and Becker had joined Vogel on their feet and seemed ready to start the celebrations when a sharp slap on the table cut them off. Koenig's already narrow eyes were reduced to slits as he glared them back into their seats.

_"_While I am as happy as all of you, we cannot afford to be careless. If all of us make a beeline for Colombia we might as well draw a map for all those hounding the Major."

"What do you suggest, Captain?" asked Ernest.

"First, we need someone here to receive any more messages Visha might send. Teyanen?"

"No can do, Captain. I already quit my job and booked my ticket, I'm leaving next month. I'm only stayed around to help spread the word. I can arrange to have my mail forwarded, but someone else has got to hold the fort."

All five looked at each other, before one by one, their eyes came to rest on Becker. He rolled his eyes, "What is this, pick on the aristocrat day?"

Koenig hid a smile. While the whole battalion had known that Becker was really Klaus von Becker, youngest son of an old and wealthy family, the young man's affable nature had won over those who might have made an issue of it. Instead, Koenig replied, "Actually, in many ways you are ideal. It won't be just a matter of receiving and sending messages. Someone will also have to do the legwork of reaching out to our old comrades. See who is still... reliable."

The whole table sobered at this. Ernst, Vogel and Becker had been among Degurechaff's most vocal partisans. Koenig preferred to keep his own counsel, but Visha had vouched for him, as she had for Teyanen. The five of them could trust each other, but for how many more was that true?

A total of 59 aerial mages had borne the badge of the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion. Of them, 6 had been killed in action, and 18 more invalided out of the army. Of the invalids, Teyanen was one of the lucky ones to have made a full recovery. Not counting the Major, Visha, and those present at the table, that left maybe 30 to 35 potential recruits if one counted those who were only partially disabled.

Of those mages, five of them had joined at the very end of Operation Revolving Door, and subsequently were the only five invited to once more bear the Type 97 as part of the 207th, the 'replacement' of the 203rd. Koenig did not grudge them their choices, but he also immediately dismissed them from consideration.

This still left maybe 30 mages. Of them, the only ones Koenig would trust wholeheartedly would be his fellow company commanders, Weiss and Neumann. After them would be those who had resigned in protest following the debacle of the Major's trial - maybe eight or ten all told. Still, even if they could be trusted with the secret, that did not mean they would be willing to leave behind their lives in the Empire for whatever hell awaited them in the jungles of South America.

Someone would have to reach out to the remainder of the 203rd, test them for reliability, then see if they would be willing to abandon the Empire to follow the Major. When he put it that way, Koenig was surprised there were even five such lunatics sitting around the table.

"All right," sighed Becker. "I suppose someone will have to act as your local contact. I warn you though, I'm not going to be left behind forever. Six months, then I'm on the next boat."

"Fair enough. Ernest, you're no longer in the army. How quickly can you follow Teyanen?"

"Tomorrow soon enough?"

"Don't travel together, instead figure out how to meet up in Cartagena. Once the two of you get there, establish a base of operations. One of you will have to man the base and coordinate the rest of us when we get there. And the other will have to search for clues as to the Major or Visha's whereabouts."

"Clues?" came Vogel's puzzled query.

"You really think Visha would send a message from there if the Major was anywhere nearby? Most likely, they'll have left clues for those who know them, but they won't be easy to find. You'll have to be clever and cautious. Or you can just sit tight and wait until I get there and figure it out for you."

"Respectfully Captain, up yours," Ernest said with a sweet smile.

"Hmph. Just remember, be discreet. We don't want to tip anyone off until the Major's ready for them. Now, I do believe Vogel mentioned some beer?"

As the somber mood gave way to celebration, Koenig found himself quietly nursing a drink besides Becker as the other three held a drinking contest. The young nobleman leaned in and asked, "Captain. This thing we're doing. Does it actually make sense? To abandon everything we know and head off across the ocean chasing after a girl we knew for barely a year..." Becker paused for a moment before continuing, "Now that I say it, we sound like a bunch of lovesick idiots from a cheesy romance novel."

"Now, now, Corporal. Not all of us are like Lieutenant Serebryakov." They both shared a quiet laugh. After a moment of watching the others make fools of themselves, Koenig spoke once more, "Everyone has their reasons. Some are simple. Teyanen feels he let us down with how he was invalided out, and wants to prove himself once and for all. Vogel was a perennial fuck-up one bad move away from a court-martial, until the Major took him in and set him straight. You and Ernest are a bit more complex, but I feel you are sincere and that is what matters."

"And you, Captain?"

"Now that is very personal, Corporal. But I will say this. The Major said many interesting things while I knew her, but the one that always stuck in my head is this thing she said right after we got done taking out the Dacian vanguard's HQ. 'Forward. Ever forward. Let's try and see just how far we can go.' So... I guess you can say I'm in this to satisfy my curiosity."


	16. Chapter 16

_A\N: For the last few days I've been rereading 14 years' worth of Vexxarr webcomics. Absolutely worth the time :)_

**Chapter 16**

**December 15, 1927, a patch of jungle near Manizales, Colombia**

It was raining. Considering it had rained four days out of five since I'd arrived in this country, this was hardly noteworthy. At least the lateness of the year meant the rain was pleasantly cool rather than warm. The forest canopy didn't stop the water so much as channel it into big fat drops that splashed down and made it impossible to listen for incoming danger. Not a pleasant state of affairs when I was armed with nothing more than a pistol, and my agent, Tony Almeida, had a shotgun. Of course, the real firepower for this expedition was provided by my refurbished Hughes M27 computation orb, but stretching its power to protect two people was definitely going to tax its capability. I'd have preferred to do this on my own, except I needed someone who spoke the language. I'd picked Tony out of the ranks of Velvet Iron specifically for his ability with Spanish and Portuguese, both of which were spoken in this country.

And why was I traipsing through this forest in search of people likely to shoot at me? Because the security issue my client had originally brought me to face had turned out to be the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

When my client had acquired his plantations, he had done so under the expectation that he could get away with paying the field laborers around ten pesos a month. Now, this might have very well been true, twenty years ago. Unfortunately for him, in that time the Colombian government had successfully implemented a program of industrialization and economic reform, creating a large number of new jobs and elevating labor costs across the entire country.

Now, when faced with a surge in labor costs, an employer has a few options. The first is to invest in automation and replace workers by machines. This was impossible given the care that needed to be taken while picking the fruit for the high-quality coffee beans these plantations produced. The second is to import cheaper labor, or outsource your production to a cheaper market. The Colombian government refused to cooperate with the former and the realities of geography prevented the latter. The last option is to pay what the market demands and pass the costs on to your customers.

In the current situation, the last option was the only practical one, yet the plantation owners in the region were united in their refusal to pay a decent wage. They had their reasons of course - the biggest reason being that the crop prices were almost always set by the multinational corporations that were their primary customers. Most of them simply couldn't afford to pay the wages demanded and still turn a profit.

Now, this particular problem didn't apply to my client. But with typical American pigheadedness, he refused to be 'cheated' by his workers when none of his neighbors were raising wages. It was almost enough to make me tear my hair out.

Luckily, a visit to the Colombian version of their revenue service gave me what I thought was a solution. I proposed a number of initiatives to my client - clinics to provide medical care to his workers, schools and vaccination programs for their children, and pumps to provide clean water. Much of this could be filed as charitable activity and he could get at least partial tax credit. He would still be out some money, but it would be a lot less than raising wages, and the workers would be placated. I even had the workers buy into it by rounding them up and putting it to a vote. Having free medical care and education for their children dangled in front of them did the trick - they voted with a comfortable majority in favor of the facilities over a wage increase.

I thought that would be the end of it and I could now focus on my other affairs. I was wrong. I should have remembered there is not a single situation in the world that communists cannot make worse. When they saw local support drying up, the local socialist parties started importing goons from other parts of the country. They set about with a will, picketing my client, sabotaging facilities, and spreading agitation among the workers.

I was in a bind. I couldn't fight what felt like a large chunk of rural Colombia. The only way to sap the strength from this movement was with reforms at the highest level. Unfortunately, the government would be no help. A group of right-wing Conservatives, the current government might be good for business but they were death on labor reform. No, the only possible solution was to somehow leverage a higher price for the product. Then hopefully the higher income would trickle down to the workers as better wages.

So for the next month, I traveled the length and breadth of Colombia. I was talking to all the plantation owners. The word of the day - unionize! Stealing a page from the socialist playbook, I approached plantation owners with one simple truth - if they all united in their refusal to sell unless they got a decent price for their product, the big multinationals would have no choice but to bargain.

Getting them organized sometimes felt like herding cats. Fortunately, I wasn't the only one to have thought of this. There were a number of influential plantation owners who had been feeling their way to the same conclusion. My campaigning for the formation of a Coffee Growers Association of Colombia gave these gentlemen the impetus they needed to get themselves organized. I even wrangled a membership for my client, under the argument that anyone who grows coffee on Colombian soil should be a member. I talked my client into it under the suggestion that there might come a time he might have excess product he needs to sell, and wouldn't it be nice if he was part of an association dedicated to getting him a good price?

That left one fly in the ointment. The communists. If the coffee growers were to present a united front to their customers, they needed to have something to bargain with. There was no point negotiating a good price for their product if communist interference meant they had no product to sell. Which, of course, led directly to me traipsing through this soggy jungle with one translator for company.

Eventually, we arrived at our destination. Discreet aerial sweeps had earlier identified an old villa as the headquarters of the local left-wing movement. In particular, a number of people had been seen heading this way recently - today was an important meeting of some sort. Naturally, we were spotted, and a couple of guards came out from under a shelter yelling and waving rifles dating back to the previous century. Tony yelled back even more loudly. I didn't bother speaking myself. Tony had already been briefed on what to say and the most likely responses, he would only turn to me if this conversation went off script.

As Tony was explaining to them that we were here to negotiate with them on behalf of the plantation owners, I was paying attention to my senses. First and most important, no sign of magic use anywhere. Excellent. Colombia's orb tech ranged from primitive to non-existent, so this was not surprising, but it paid to be sure. The armed guards themselves were few and far between. There were a few dozen people here, and only a few of them had guns of any stripe. Most were old civilian pieces. No heavy or automatic weapons at all that I could see. It was clear that this particular revolution still had a long way to go. Good, that meant there was a chance to nip this nonsense in the bud.

Eventually we were permitted to talk to the bigwigs after we surrendered our firearms. There were four men between ages twenty and fifty seated at a table in the verandah of the villa. Their oldest member offered me a seat that I took with aplomb and then faced my interlocutors. I recognized two of them from my intelligence gathering. The old man in particular. Pedro Juan Alvarez, was one of the faces of the movement. He was also, as far as these people went, a moderate. More a socialist than an outright communist. After I was seated, he was the one to address me first.

"So. We are honored. The mysterious Senora Jennifer Ecks. Where you go, change follows, or so they say. You come to Sietcolina and all of a sudden an avaricious foreigner finds charity in his heart. You go to the other landowners, and those grasping short sighted men suddenly find strength in unity. Some call you a witch. A lot of stories for a _gringo_ who has been here for so little time. And now I suppose you come here to tell us how we will be doing things from now on?" Tony translated the speech. The man was clearly a politician - that speech was at least half for his colleagues.

I smiled as the familiar rush of facing down an enemy filled me. "As you said, I am but a foreigner. Who am I to decide for you? No, all I bring are choices. What comes after is up to you."

"And what kind of choice?"

"You are of course aware of the Coffee Growers Association that has recently formed?"

As the words translated, one of those I didn't recognize sneered. "A conspiracy to suppress the honest farm workers and keep them down in poverty and ignorance."

"On the contrary. It is the best hope you have of seeing the workers you champion actually get the wages and respect they deserve." I continued speaking before there were more interruptions. "You think the landowners are your enemy. You are wrong. The true enemy are the big corporations who come to your country to buy the fruits of your labor and refuse to pay anything but centavos on the peso. Whoever runs the farms, the landowners or you, ultimately the workers will have the same fate. Unable to feed their families because you cannot force the foreigners to pay a fair price."

"You're a foreigner," one of them pointed out.

I ignored the asinine observation and carried on with my spiel. "The Coffee Growers Association is the answer. By uniting all the farmers, they can force the opposition to the bargaining table. A better price for the crop will translate to better wages for everyone. However, this cannot happen as long as your people keep interfering with the harvest. In order to bargain with big business, the farmers need something to bargain with. Without the harvest, there is no bargaining. No bargain, no wages. For anyone."

This time it was Alvarez who spoke. "We are not stupid. We understand this. But you really expect us to believe that they will raise their wages out of the goodness of their hearts? No, this association is a fine idea, but we can do the same once the means of production are in the hands of the workers where it belongs."

I carefully didn't express my opinion of that idea. Instead I said, "Ideals are all well and good. But let us be practical. Your movement is years, perhaps decades, away from any meaningful power. In the meantime, your obstruction impoverishes everyone and helps no one. On the other hand, I can see how your group could become vital to the success of the Coffee Growers Association. So vital, they would not dare ignore you when you make demands of your own."

Ah, that got their attention. No matter how much they might prattle about the plight of the common man, what a politician fears most is to be made irrelevant. I just need to show them how they can have their own piece of the pie. Smiling, I spoke softly, "You are right in one way. Businessmen are a greedy lot and someone needs to keep them in line. I have no doubt there will be those who might seek to betray their fellows. My own client is an enlightened soul willing to work with his neighbors, but even now there exist farm owners, foreign and Colombian alike, who refuse to come together for the greater good. A force as organized and dedicated as yours would be ideal to ensure unity."

There was a lot of pondering on that. Some seemed to consider it seriously, but one fellow seemed upset. I knew him as Nicolas Costa, one of the most vocal firebrands, and anything but 'moderate'. His rebuttal was furious: "How dare you! You suggest we act as enforcers for the same oppressors we are fighting against!"

I clucked. "Don't be foolish. Am I asking you to raise a single hand against your fellow workers? Instead I ask your aid in bringing to heel those who would betray the unity of Colombia!"

There was some rapid fire Spanish as the four fell into a brief discussion. In the end, Alvarez spoke up, "I am afraid this offer, we have to decline. It goes too far against our ideals."

"I see. Then let us come to your next choice. This one is even simpler. All I ask for is a bit of time."

"Time?"

"Yes. Time for the Association to get on its feet. Time for the first negotiations with the big businesses to be finished. Once the Association has secured a much better price for its crop, you can then press your case with a much higher chance of success. After all, to fleece a sheep, it is better if it first has wool, no?"

"You make us sound like some kind of racket!"

I laughed. "All politics is a racket. I prefer not to indulge in hypocrisy."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Alvarez was on his feet now. "I don't think there is anything more to say."

I kept seated. "Oh, but there is always the third option. And I favor this one, for it is the simplest. Do you see that banana tree over there?" I indicated a tree about fifty meters away.

On getting an affirmation, I gave them a cheerful smile. "Well, keep your eye on it for three... two... one..." Then there was a crack and bang, and the tree converted itself to flaming splinters as the familiar feel of an explosion spell washed over me. Looks like that M27 I gave Visha was working just fine.

There was a bit of shouting and gun-waving and shouts of '_bruja_' which I understood was Spanish for 'witch'. I sat through it calmly enough, though poor Tony seemed a lot more nervous. Once people seemed to be calm enough to listen I spoke loudly, "Did it ever occur to any of you that I knew where to find you? That I knew all of you would be here, today?"

That shut them up quick. Speaking in a normal tone I spoke, "So, you all have three choices. You can be part of the solution, and secure for yourself a place at the bargaining table. You can stay aloof but at least act responsibly, and not actively sabotage those who are working to make things better. Or, your third option, you deal with _me_."

Costa had a pistol out and pointed at me. I didn't need a translation to recognize the string of threats and invective for what it was. I yawned, loudly and obviously. "If you do not get that out of my face, I may have to give another demonstration."

I thought he might actually go through with it, but Alvarez talked him down in the end. Then he turned to me. "Senora Ecks, you say you come to negotiate, yet you only make threats."

"On the contrary. I gave you choices. And I have outlined the possible consequences of each choice. That is the thing about choices, Senor Alvarez. They all have consequences. Even a man standing on a chair with his head in a noose has a choice - to take his head out of the noose, or to kick away the chair."

I stood up and stretched languidly, and Tony followed. "Well, I have said everything I came to say. Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I look forward to your answer."

Costa was back to sneering at me, if with a lot less confidence. "Do you really think you can fight all of Colombia?"

I gave him my sunniest smile. "You act as if it matters to me who wins."

Seeing the confusion on several faces, I laughed aloud. "Did I not just say, I am here on behalf of my employer?" I made sure to catch each of their eyes as I made my position clear. "Please understand, I only care about all this because I am being paid to care. If you are foolish enough to fight me - perhaps you will be lucky and only some of you will die. Perhaps unlucky, and all of you will die. It matters not to me. At the end of the day, win or lose, I will wash my hands of your blood, collect my pay, and move on to the next job."

Accompanied by Tony, I walked away from the villa. No one stopped us or shot at us. Thank goodness, it meant they are at least thinking. I was being honest in a way. It really didn't matter to me what they chose. With the Coffee Growers Association taking shape, I had on my side all the most important people in the area. With their support I could act with relative impunity. Although, I did intend to keep the casualties to a minimum. No matter my bravado, the fact remained I was an international fugitive. The last thing I needed was to get an arrest warrant in my (assumed) name in one of the few countries not actively hunting me.

In fact, now that I thought about it, I really needed to start taking steps to ingratiate myself with the Colombian government. I'd had plans to offer help in developing their aerial mages, plans I'd put aside due to this mess that was organizing the coffee growers. Now that I might be forced to go commie-hunting, I needed to garner for myself some governmental immunity.

I was still pondering my future plans as I made it back to the plantation house that served as my base of operations, when a vaguely familiar voice spoke up. "You're a hard person to find, Major."

I felt my whole body freeze in shock as I stared at Warrant Officer Emilie Ernest. I remembered her of course. The 203rd was small enough I knew every member by name, even the later transfers. She had been one of Weiss' more capable subordinates. If she hadn't been injured during Operation Revolving Door, she'd have made the eleven I took with me for Schugel's insane rocket ride. Visha was already standing by her side, hopping from foot to foot in excitement. When Visha saw me looking at her, she spoke up, "Isn't it great Major? Emilie finally made it! I bet the others aren't far behind!"

"Others?" I asked faintly.

Emilie spoke up. "Teyanen's in Cartagena. He's waiting for... well, we're expecting Koenig and Vogel soon enough. Becker said he'll join us in six months. In between, there might be others, but that's up to Becker. He's our recruiter in the Empire."

"Re... recruiter? Recruiter for what?!"

"Well, for whatever it is you're doing all the way out here."

"The Major runs a security company called Velvet Iron Protection," piped up Visha helpfully.

Emilie nodded. "I like the name. Yeah, I'm in."

"But... but... you're one of the best mages in the Empire! Do you really want to run around the jungle chasing commies for $65 a week?"

"Hard work, lot of danger, little pay. Sounds familiar. Do I get my own computation orb?"

I was just about to seize on this to deny her when Visha once more decided to be helpful. "Oh yes, it might take a bit, but the Major knows people!" She showed off her own orb like a woman bragging about her new jewelry. "See, it's an American model M27. It's a little better than the Standard Type 24, and uses a lot less magic, so you can keep fighting with it a lot longer!"

Then both Emilie and Visha turned shining hope-filled eyes at me, and I knew arguing with them was pointless. I guess peace really does weigh heavily on some. But god damn it, where am I going to find more combat-rated orbs? I had two more, one for Emilie and one for the young apprentice Charles Norris, but I somehow needed to find at least four others. While, at the same time, trying not to get on the bad side of the Colombian government. _Damn it all, how did it come to this?_

* * *

**December 17, 1927, New York, Unified States**

"So, Hughes knows nothing?" asked Captain Robert Strong.

"Or so he claims," replied Elya. "According to him, by the time he met Jennifer Ecks she'd already been a tester for the M27 development team for months. He did, however, laugh at the idea that she really was Tanya von Degurechaff. Then said it would make a great movie and went off to work on a script."

"We also talked to some of the mages who helped with the movie. According to them, the only time they detected any illusion magic was when she took the appearance of Tanya von Degurechaff. Nothing while in the guise of Ecks." This was said by Mary Sioux in a morose tone.

"Yes, that does knock our working theory on the head rather nicely, doesn't it? You'd think it would be the other way round," Elya pointed out.

Strong blinked twice. "That... so is Ecks Degurechaff or isn't she?"

"Honestly, at this point we might as well flip a coin," replied Elya.

"It can't all be a coincidence! I refuse to believe it! The timeline fits, and they're just too damn similar!" seethed Mary.

"Well, at least we're going to get a bit more manpower," said Strong. "Interpol head office finally responded to our findings. We're getting another four agents as backup. For what good it'll do."

"You'll probably need them, since I won't be around," said Elya as she stood up.

Strong glanced at her. "So it's confirmed? You're being recalled to Berun?"

"Afraid so, Captain. They really want to know all about this orb research center that Degurechaff might have been working in. Speaking of which, can I at least assure them Hughes Magic isn't working on quad-core orbs?"

"The spokesman for Hughes Magic categorically denied researching quad-core orbs."

"And do we have an answer that doesn't involve just taking their word for it?"

"Afraid not. Any request to investigate Hughes Magic is getting shut down hard. The Army is very happy with their new M27 and they don't want anything ruffling the golden goose."

"My bosses in Berun will be just _thrilled_ to hear that."

"Don't I know it. Good luck, Lieutenant."

It was a few minutes after Elya left that Mary spoke up. "We're going to get stonewalled, aren't we? If some part of the American government really was involved in hiding Degurechaff, no way they're going to let it come out."

"We don't know that, Ensign. Anything's still possible."

"But nothing will actually happen unless we make it happen!"

"You have a suggestion, Ensign?"

"Yes. Velvet Iron Protection. It all comes down to them. Whatever organization is behind Degurechaff, I'm sure they're deeply involved with them as well. We need to get inside information."

"The police do have some insiders there."

"Sure, but they're all low-rankers with little responsibility. And," the ensign sat forward intently, "None of them are mages."

"What are you suggesting, Ensign."

"Simple. No one knows me over at Velvet Iron. The only one who might recognize me is Barrow, and I doubt he'd even remember me after so many months. Even if he does, I'll come up with something to cover for it. I'll present myself as someone who tested as a mage but doesn't want to join the army proper. Velvet Iron can't have too many combat-rated mages, I guarantee if there's anything important they're working on, they'll try to bring me in sooner or later."

Strong stared at her. "Ensign, do you realize just how insanely risky that is? You'll have to go in under a false identity, and there's no way you can take a combat orb with you. If you get found out, you'll be completely cut off from support."

"The only one who's a match for me there is Degurechaff herself. Barrow has some training but not to my level, and any others they have will be the same. I can do this - no, Captain, I _have _to do this. It's the only way we're ever going to start unraveling this mess!"

"And what happens if you come face to face with Degurechaff herself? Or Ecks, for that matter?"

"What do you think? I'm going to bide my time and get in touch with you so you can call in a battalion of mages to come down on her like the wrath of God! What, do you really think I'm going to try and arrest her all on my own?"

"Sometimes I wonder. I can't believe I'm even thinking this. All right Ensign, if we're doing this, we're doing it right. First of all..."

* * *

**January 10, 1928, Bogota, Colombia**

There was something satisfying about watching Visha swoop through the air as she pushed herself to the limit. It was a testament to how far she'd come since they days of the green young corporal. Hard to believe it's been less than five years. Of course, she was performing nowhere near the level she displayed in the 203rd, but that was entirely the fault of the orb. The one she was using was the worst of the four I'd managed to acquire, and it showed.

Not that General Estevan or Colonel Sanchez seemed to realize it. Estevan was Colombia's version of an Air Marshall, and Sanchez was the head of their aerial mages (such as they were), and the two of them were gazing at Visha as if she were an angel bringing forth a divine revelation. Which was only fair. Given the absolutely shoddy quality of Colombia's computation orbs, even this underperforming piece was well ahead of what they had.

When Visha landed, Estevan did his best to look stoic, but his attempt at dignity was completely undercut as Sanchez rushed over to congratulate Visha and he literally _gushed_ over how amazing she looked up there and how she was completely deserving of her sterling reputation and how it was an honor to even share the same air as her...

His energetic enthusiasm was explained by the fact that the good Colonel was only in his twenties, a testament to the youth of Colombia's mage program. He was also apparently an avid student of the air battles in the Great Europan War (as it was now being called) and had actually recognized Visha on sight. And while his hero-worship was amusing, I found my smile growing brittle as his compliments kept straying away from the professional and into personal territory.

Of course, Visha's presence was doing what it was supposed to. A completely unknown firm like Stillwater Security needed some kind of star power to give them some credibility. Yes, I'd come up with a new company name for this venture, along with a new identity for myself, brown-haired brown-eyed Sarah Witherspoon of Albion. The reason was simple - Velvet Iron was on record as being involved with Hughes Magic Works. If word got out we were also involving ourselves with Colombia's mage forces? An investigation for espionage and treason would be all but inevitable. To further cover matters, I'd already sent word to Lena to remove Visha from Velvet Iron's books as an employee. On paper, there could be no direct connection between the two.

As Sanchez monopolized Visha, General Estevan turned to me, speaking in heavily accented Albish. "A most impressive performance, Miss Weatherspoon. I can see why you think so highly of your prototype."

"Impressive enough to be worth the asking price?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand pesos isn't a problem. Even giving permission for your employees to bear arms can be tolerable as long as their number is kept low. But the license..."

"Is non-negotiable. But I can wait to receive it while we get the new orb in production. Speaking of which, you'll need help with that too."

"Oh?"

"I had look at the Colonel's orb. Its clear part of your problem is in the quality of precision engineering. Fortunately I know people. Getting some quality consultants and appropriate tools shouldn't be too difficult. Of course, acquiring some of these items will be much easier with the license."

"All right, all right. You've convinced me, I'll arrange it. You'll get your arms dealer's license."

"With priority and exclusive rights on the computation orbs?"

"As you say. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal." I had to fight to keep my smile demure. While the money was nice, especially for a 'prototype' for which I'd only paid a few hundred dollars, the real value was in the license. It would give me permission to purchase weapons from the Colombian government and export them to anywhere in the world - and even more importantly it would allow me to approach any foreign government and make arms purchases as long as they were theoretically for sale in Colombia. With this, I'd have no trouble buying combat orbs from the Colombian government, or weapons from anywhere else. At least I'd be able to keep those battle maniacs from the 203rd happy.

Speaking of whom, Vogel had shown up in the past month as well, with the promise that Koenig wasn't far behind. And Teyanen had sent word that another of Neumann's company, Corporal Walther, had been recruited by Becker and was on his way. I was not entirely unhappy to see them. The communists had been acting squirrelly. It seems my ultimatum had the effect of fracturing their leadership. Some wanted to seek an accommodation with the plantation owners while others wanted to double down and start the revolution early. While they were currently paralyzed by indecision, I figured it was only a matter of time before some fringe element went off the rails. I'd need my veterans armed and ready when that happened.

While I had been negotiating with the General, we'd been rejoined by the other two. Visha was looking a little flustered - while she'd had her share of admirers, it was clear she wasn't used to her admirer being both so senior and so effusive. Alas, she'd have to get used to it. Once we got the orb production underway, Visha would be acting as training consult to the Colombian Air Force. The final objective was to have three companies of quality aerial mages equipped with the new orbs, up from the single company they had now. Of course, this would involve her spending a lot of time with the Colonel. The thought was definitely irritating me for some reason, so when the Colonel tried to invite her to dinner I declined quite brusquely on her behalf. Thankfully, Visha was too good-natured to take issue with this, even though I saw her shyly glancing at me, clearly curious about my behavior. I was honestly a bit surprised myself. Over-enthusiasm aside, Sanchez was reasonably good looking, single, well-connected, with excellent prospects. Shouldn't I be happy for my friend that she's caught the attention of such a prize catch?

I pondered this quite a bit as we made our way to our hotel room. Eventually I realized why I was being so defensive of her. It was because if Visha did become romantically involved she would probably end up quitting my employment. That was not something I was willing to take lying down. Our years of separation had only emphasized how she was the best adjutant someone could have. While I accepted Visha was a full-grown adult with free will, that just meant I was allowed to use every human resources trick I knew to keep her in my employ.

I couldn't slack off on this either. Sanchez was just the first of many. I needed to be proactive. The best way to retain an in-demand employee was to make them feel personally appreciated. I might not be able to provide her romance, but I could at least make her so happy in her job it would take enormous effort to make her quit. Come to think of it, I've never seen her celebrate her birthday. Do I even know her birthday? Unbelievable! Just starting out and I'd already failed as an employer. It seemed I was going to really have to buckle down on this. Well, no time like the present.

"Visha, have I recently mentioned just how helpless I'd be without you? Because honestly, some days you're the only reason I can get out of bed in the morning." Yes, judging by the blush, that was about right. Not too much exaggeration either, Visha's coffee had reached truly divine levels now that she had access to some of the best beans in the world.


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 17**

Once I had my deal with the Colombian military, I could turn my attention to other matters. The influx of capital meant I could now start exploring the pharmaceutical potential of cannabis and opium. By this time, I'd been in the country long enough to identify the people who actually cultivated these plants, as well as potential areas for expansion.

While getting a supply of opium proved difficult, I had been pleased to learn that cannabis was already cultivated on an industrial scale in the northern part of the country. Strangely, very little of it went into the production of the drug. Instead the variants being cultivated were specialized for producing hemp fiber. It was a simple matter of getting in touch with few people that actually grew the drug-producing variant and convincing them to supply seeds for several others who showed interest in the higher price I was willing to offer for pharmaceutically useful product. I was even lucky with the timing - harvest season for the winter cannabis crop was coming up, so I could have my first crops planted within a couple of months.

To facilitate the harvest and sale of the product, I decided to set up a new company, Sunrise Botanicals. By this point, I'd become an old hand at quickly setting up a limited liability corporation geared towards a specific purpose. Much more effective than trying to extend an existing company outside its core competency, and if one of the companies I was involved in got embroiled in an investigation by my pursuers, the others would be insulated from the fallout.

When setting up Sunrise Botanicals I decided to appoint one Jesus Vargas as the CEO. Jesus was an independent lawyer I'd hired to act as translator and negotiator to deal with the cannabis plantation owners. In the course of his duties he'd impressed me enough with his business intelligence that when the time came to set up Sunrise Botanicals he seemed the best choice for the hot seat. I had to promise him a 5% share of the company to convince him to abandon his legal practice and become a full-time executive, but I figured it was an acceptable price to get a leader who had been intimately involved in setting up the business from the ground up. I put him in touch with all my American contacts, and he set to work with a will finding ways around the various laws that restricted cannabis in the US.

I also threw several thousand dollars at one of the better medical schools in order to carry out a proper study on potential medical benefits of cannabis. I wasn't very optimistic, but I figured if they did come up with something, I could use it as a tool to keep the various governments from banning the item altogether. The political benefits of having a provable medical utility for the plant easily outweighed the cost of sponsoring the study.

While I took a hands off approach with Sunrise, that didn't mean I was taking it easy. First there was the development of Colombia's new combat orb. While their R&D department was smart enough to reverse engineer the refurbished M27, actually building it in numbers required tools and experts they simply didn't have. Luckily, I knew where to get what they needed thanks to my involvement with Hughes Magic Works. In the end, it proved as simple as putting the Colombians in touch with Changying Lin. Being a known magical service provider, Household Magicks could act as a front for the Colombian government's acquisition of state-of-the-art magical engineering tools as well as the experts to use them without raising too many eyebrows. True, there was absolutely nothing illegal in what they were doing, but I figured it was best the American government not think to ask itself if they should be restricting access to these tools or not.

Soon enough, the Colombians were producing their Libertador Modelo 1928, or LM1928 for short. And if its inner workings looked remarkably similar to the Hughes M27, well, it's a good thing no one familiar with the Hughes model was involved in the production process.

At the same time, I was reorganizing my employees and rapidly expanding Stillwater Security. With Stillwater having a firm 'in' with the Colombian government, I saw no need to extend Velvet Iron's presence in the country. I'm sure Lena breathed a sigh of relief when Jennifer Ecks handed in her resignation and she could get Interpol off her back. I also managed to persuade Tony Almeida and Charles Norris to turn in their own resignations and join up with Stillwater, even as the other four agents went back to New York.

I wanted Tony so that I had a translator I could trust. In spite of my best efforts, my spoken Spanish remained at the most rudimentary level. In the case of Norris, well, it was partly my natural reluctance to part with a combat-rated mage now that I had regular access to orbs to utilize his full potential. The other part, though, was that I didn't want to admit to Lin I'd disrupted Household Magicks' operation for no good reason.

At the time I'd ordered the lad aboard the boat to Colombia, I hadn't realized just how big a difference a high-B-rank mage made to the company. Your normal C-rank mage could get maybe one small Feng Shui system empowered each day. Depending on size, it could take multiple C-rank mages to empower a single setup. Norris could do the work of multiple C-rank mages, and he could do it two or three times a day. When I'd pulled him from Household, Lin had been forced to put a halt to all expansion and instead focus entirely on servicing existing customers. Even borrowing mages from Velvet Iron didn't help, as the only one who could have made a difference was Barrow, and he had too many responsibilities to be available all the time. Lin had been forced to raise salaries all round just so she could compete with the more traditional magical jobs in order to make up the numbers.

Naturally, given the world's fondness for irony, just as Lin got Household Magick's mage shortage resolved, what should happen but an almost seventeen-year-old A-rank girl would show up at Velvet Iron looking for a job, and Lena would send her over to Household Magicks following Velvet Iron's age policy. I'd gotten a chuckle when I'd noticed the annoyance concealed in Lin's reports. I'd written back to her warning her not to get too dependent on her new powerhouse. After all, even if she proved satisfied in her current job, I very much doubted the American government would leave a talent like that alone forever.

While organizing my combat mages as part of Stillwater was simplicity itself, it was somewhat harder to get our mundane forces properly trained and equipped. Why did we need mundane forces? Well, for starters, Sunrise Botanicals' suppliers were facing similar labor issues as the rest of the country. Second, the Coffee Growers Association still had a need for someone to deal with the socialists, communists, and nascent labor unions in general. And when I say 'deal with' I don't just mean it as a euphemism for violence. True, there was some skullcracking involved when the left-wingers got particularly rowdy, but often it involved actually meeting and negotiating with the local bosses in order to ensure the smooth operation of business.

As such, not only did I need a significant force to cover the hilly and forested terrain that made up much of the country, but this force had to be trained up to an adequate level of discipline to make sure they knew when and when not to open fire. To my considerable surprise, I was aided in this by the Colombian's own military organization. I hadn't known until I looked, but Colombia had suffered a serious military defeat at American hands about twenty years ago when fighting over control of Panama, and in an effort to not repeat that debacle, they had taken inspiration from the Empire when reorganizing their military on modern lines. As a result, when I went looking for ex-army people to act as NCOs and officers to my new security force, I found people who, if not for their ethnicity, could have walked on to the Prussian side of the Rhine front, no questions asked. With Koenig, Visha, and the other former members of the 203rd watching over them, by the middle of February we had the first company of Stillwater Security ready for action.

Equipping them proved a bit trickier, though. My arms license meant I could purchase equipment and rations from the Colombian government, but their weapon selection wasn't the best. While there was nothing wrong with their Luger pistols, the Colombian army was still relying on a local variant of the venerable Mauser bolt-action rifles for their primary infantry weapon. Given my troops would often be acting in jungle, mountain, or urban terrain, a bolt-action long rifle was a poor choice of weapon. The ideal would be a submachine gun, but the only decent submachine gun available on short notice were the American Thompsons, and those were just too expensive to give to any but the squad leaders. For the regular grunts, I ordered a mixture of Winchester Model 15s and Remington Model 11s. The Winchesters were a fairly recent semi-automatic rifle that was the standard long arm of the American aerial mages, and I figured if it was good enough for them it was good enough for me. The Remingtons on the other hand were a reliable model of semi-automatic shotgun. I ordered them for twelve gauge caliber and they proved devastating out to 40 meters when loaded with buckshot, and effective out to 100 with slugs. Not a substitute for a Thompson, but at an eighth of the cost it was a bargain. And since I was importing so much from America, I also threw in an order for a few M1919 Browning machine guns. I figured the extra firepower was better to have on hand even if I didn't expect to need it.

Of course each of these weapons operated in a different caliber but as long as it was only a few hundred men, the logistical complexity could be kept manageable.

It was not all smooth sailing. As the main body of Stillwater's troops became available some of the most avaricious plantation owners saw in us a tool to ruthlessly suppress the various labor reforms that had been slowly trickling in. Matters came to a head in March when one of the largest coffee barons, one Senor D'Souza, demanded we use our forces to break up a strike.

Now, I'd done strikebreaking work before in America. Contrary to what the name suggested, there was very little actual breakage involved. Breaking a strike meant escorting workers not part of the local protesters to come in and operate the facility, leaving the original workers out in the cold. Perhaps unethical, but definitely not illegal. In this case though, D'Souza didn't have a second workforce waiting in the wings to take over the jobs. Once he explained what he expected of me, I realized he was looking less for a strikebreaker and more a slave overseer. When I pointed out to him that slavery in Colombia was, in fact, illegal, he cursed me out and started bringing in his own goon squads.

There were several reasons I couldn't let this stand.

First, I'd gone to considerable trouble to establish myself as the middleman between the owners and the workers. While violence was occasionally necessary, it was all defensive in nature to preserve lives and property. Most of the time my work lay in finding a compromise both sides were equally unhappy with, but not enough to complain too loudly. Hiring his own goon squads to terrorize and enslave the workforce was entirely disruptive to this rapport I'd worked so hard to build.

Second, Stillwater Security was currently a friend of the government. Having someone so closely associated with you involved, even tangentially, with such blatantly illegal behavior would be a severe embarrassment for any government with pretensions towards democracy. And I needed the Colombian government to like me, particularly if they ever had to say no to an extradition request with any of my names on it.

Finally, there was also an outside chance it might work. Enslaving his workers couldn't possibly work out in the long term, but in the short term D'Souza might actually see some success before resistance had enough time to coalesce. And that could be just enough time for other plantation owners to think it a good idea as well. The whole thing would inevitably collapse, but not before a great deal of violence and drama - violence that could very well spill over to my own interests.

Faced with such an urgent situation, I quickly got in touch with the local chief of police and reported this illegal activity, requesting he send a force to put down this open violation of human rights. At first, the gentleman seemed extremely reluctant to take my word over that of the aristocrat. I'd expected this though, and I'd already contacted my allies in the Colombian capital. Having an Army General calling him up from Bogota and letting him know in no uncertain terms just how high an esteem the government held one Sarah Witherspoon might have been overkill, but it certainly got things moving quickly.

Of course, I wasn't satisfied leaving this up to the dubious professionalism of the local constabulary. Once the police chief had been properly on board, I persuaded him to deputize me and as many of my mages and troops as I could get there in short order. Bolstered with these numbers, the police raid on the D'Souza's villa was accomplished with only a handful of fatalities. Since all the deaths were among D'Souza's hired thugs, I considered it a clean win. Not only did the raid on his various accounts and properties provide solid evidence of his illegal actions vis a vis his workers, but we also found the completely unexpected bonus of documentary evidence that he had been systematically misreporting his expenses to the tax department, costing them millions in revenue over the last decade.

Once that last little bit of information came out, whatever political patronage D'Souza might have enjoyed was buried under the tidal wave of outrage from those parts of the government that had been denied their cut. Well, all that had nothing to do with me. My objective had been served. I'd sent a clear message that openly illegal behavior would not be tolerated as long as I had something to say about it. Hopefully the local barons would understand that there was only so much honest folk would stand for before drastic action gets taken, and even they were not above the law.

Still, when I heard rumors that the government fines and fees might end up bankrupting the plantation, I asked Sunrise's CEO to put in a bid for the property. It might take years before the case finishes going through the courts, but I was still looking for a reliable source of opium. If in that time Vargas couldn't find an existing source, then we might just have to create our own. I had him put together a very fancy presentation describing the myriad medical application of the poppy plant, and explaining how a great boon it would be to Colombian medicine if Sunrise Botanicals could prove that opium could be commercially cultivated in the country. After all, Colombian hospitals were as reliant on opiates as American ones. I hoped that the social benefits of the project would tip the bidding in our favor if and when the plantation became available.

As March turned to April and the ripples from D'Souza's fall started to die down, I had to turn to what was quickly becoming my biggest annual headache. Tax season. In the past year, I had earned significant incomes in three different countries under four different names. Keeping them all straight was a chore and a half. Thankfully, I had Visha by my side to help me trawl through the unending paperwork.

We worked for two days dotting i's and crossing t's on my tax returns. At the end of it all, I had to sit back and catch my breath as a sudden realization was borne upon me. I was now a millionaire.

This wasn't to say I'd earned a million dollars last year, or even had a million dollars in the bank. But counting my various savings, personal assets, the face value of my shares in the privately held companies I was part of, and the last publicly traded value of my shares in Hughes Magic Works, my nominal net worth had crossed the million-dollar mark.

In my past life, assuming I'd lived and gotten my promotions on time, I could have expected to reach that status in another seven to ten years. It would be a landmark, but not a very significant one - a million dollars' net worth in the 21st century meant a fancy house in the suburbs or a modest apartment in Tokyo. And I'd have been past forty five by the time I managed it.

In this life I'd done it at the age of fifteen - well, fifteen depending on which of my ID's you went by. And I'd done it in the year 1928 when being a dollar millionaire actually meant something. I admit, I may have startled Visha with my cackling.

Of course, the real irony was that I couldn't sit back and enjoy it. If I'd somehow achieved this back in the Empire as a citizen in good standing, I'd have cheerfully cashed out, bought myself an annuity, and made a serious go at the life of the idle rich. Now though, a million dollars wouldn't buy me even a day's respite from my persecutors. The only way I could secure my retirement would be under the aegis of a friendly government and an ironclad security system. In Colombia I thought I had found the former, and with Visha and the others by my side I thought I could achieve the latter.

I should have realized things wouldn't be so easy in a world infected by Being X.

The trouble, as it often happens, initially had nothing to do with me. While I wouldn't call it smooth sailing, Stillwater's troops had managed to keep a lid on the labor disputes among the coffee and cannabis growers. However, in both these industries, there were very few truly large operations. For historical reasons that I did not entirely grasp, both coffee and cannabis cultivation had been largely in the hands of small to medium sized plantations. Big operators like D'Souza were the exception rather than the norm. The same could not be said in other agricultural sectors. In particular, the United Fruit Company, based out of the US, had an effective monopoly on banana production throughout the country.

Like all monopolists, they had long since sought to maximize their own profits at the cost of everyone else. In particular, they had adamantly resisted any attempt to improve the working conditions of their laborers, and seeing as they had the backing of the Unified States, they had gotten away with it for decades. However, their workers had finally had enough and gotten organized. They gathered in massive numbers and effectively shut down the town of Cienaga, United Fruits' primary gateway to the port of Santa Marta.

Normally I'd stay out of the whole sordid affair, except I got a call from General Estevan about a week after the strike started. The Colombian government apparently wanted to hire Stillwater Security to keep the peace during the strike.

It seemed the government was going through some serious infighting over what to do about the labor dispute. The ruling conservative party was worried this strike was the first step to the Communist Revolution, and wanted to use the army to break up the protest. The liberal members of the government, on the other hand, saw Colombian citizens being exploited by a foreign entity and wanted to force United Fruit to the negotiating table. And both sides were under pressure from the American government who were threatening to Do Something about this threat to American property and business.

Stillwater was apparently the compromise. Rather than make themselves unpopular by using the army, the government decided it would be much better to use a private security company as deniable muscle.

Estavan had proved very helpful during the D'Souza affair, so as a quid pro quo I had to at least try and help him out. However, before involving myself I demanded some iron clad rules of engagement. Basically, under no circumstance would Stillwater fire the first shot. Our job was to keep the peace, no more, no less. We would keep the strikers from attacking United Fruit assets and employees - and we would also prevent any attempt to coerce the strikers as long as they stayed peaceful. There would be no repeats of the D'Souza affair.

At first, I hoped the whole thing would be wrapped up in a matter of weeks. United Fruit would bring in non-union labor to work their plantations, we would escort them in, the striking workers would realize their efforts were futile, and eventually it would be business as usual, maybe with a few minor concessions thrown in. Not very good for the workers, who as far as I could tell had legitimate grievances, but I didn't set the rules.

I had underestimated both how organized this strike was, and just how unpopular United Fruit had managed to make themselves. First they had enormous trouble getting hold of enough non-union labor to do even a fraction of the necessary work. Then, when the time came to escort these laborers in, the unions stayed peaceful. They also pulled every trick in the book to slow work down to a crawl - setting up football games on the main roads, food stalls in doorways, parking vehicles in the most awkward places and then emptying them of gas. Basically, if they could mess with United Fruit without visibly breaking the law, they did it.

I wasn't too upset about this, in fact I almost admired them. It was the sort of thing I might have done if I was in their place. My men came down like a ton of bricks on any attempt to start a fight, and otherwise kept out of it. After seeing how things were progressing, you would think United Fruit would fold and at least make some concessions, if only to get work started again. However, in a show of breathtaking arrogance, they started making demands of the Colombian government via the American ambassador. The Colombian government, in turn, started putting pressure on me, but I stood firm. I'd been hired to keep the peace, and keep it I shall. If they wanted someone to brutalize Colombian citizens, they could do it themselves.

I even ended up addressing a meeting of their parliament, where I asked them if they really wanted to go down in history as lapdogs of a foreign power, to use their bullets on their own people rather than their enemies. "Twenty years ago, Colombia failed to defend its sovereignty, and as a result Panama became the fief of a foreign power. Do you now surrender Cienaga and Santa Marta as well?" I was not sure how well cynical politicians would receive a speech appealing to their patriotism, but at least none of them could publicly denounce the sentiment. In fact, what I had expected and hoped was that they would quietly cancel my contract and I could go back to dealing with the far more reasonable cannabis and coffee producers.

Instead, not only did they not cancel my contract, but I started hearing rumors that the Colombian president had done the diplomatic equivalent of telling the Americans to go jump off a cliff. I was honestly a bit concerned about all this, but I consoled myself that it was vanishingly unlikely any country would start a war over bananas of all things.

And if the worst came to worst and the American military did put in an appearance? I would immediately withdraw all my troops and disappear into the interior. Only a lunatic (or a patriot) would try to fight the regional superpower, and a battlefield was certainly no place for a private security company.

As April due to a close, things continued to be extremely tense and uncertain. The Americans actually seemed somewhat worked up about their bananas, but the Colombians were standing firm and so far it was just a war of nasty telegrams. I'd been running myself ragged making sure no one did anything regrettable, and I was so focused on the economic and political situation that I failed to pay attention to the other threat rearing its head through the country, and indeed the whole world.

It started one morning in late April as a sniffle and a cough. Then came the muscle pains and the fever. At first, I was convinced it was nothing more than a bad cold, probably caused by being out in the rain and worsened by me being on my period. Convinced it would pass, I wrapped myself up warm and used a mental doping spell to ignore the pain and dizziness. Two days later I was getting out of bed when I found the world spinning and turning black, and it belatedly occurred to me that I might have caught something slightly worse than a cold.

* * *

**May 7, 1928, near Santa Marta, Colombia**

Visha softly sighed under her surgical mask as she changed the cold compress on the Major's head. Her fever was still high, but doses of paracetamol had brought it back from the near fatal levels of a few days ago. It was almost strange seeing her with her original face on. Now that Visha had a chance to study it, she could see the last traces of puppy fat had disappeared and her features had started taking an aquiline cast that was almost aristocratic. She was still a small girl, but now she had started making the transition from 'cute' to 'beautiful'. That is, if she hadn't been looking like death warmed over.

Then the Major's eyes flickered and Visha immediately drew closer. "Major?"

Blue eyes peeked out painfully, and there came a mumble, "Lieutenant... no... not in army..."

Visha breathed a sigh of relief. No delirium today, the Major seemed lucid. She brought forward a bowl of warm soup. "Here, Major. You need to eat."

"Not Major," came the annoyed mumble. Then the eyes opened again, focusing on Visha. "The strike?"

"Don't worry, we're keeping things under control. No one's going to start anything with us around. Here, you need to eat."

The young girl managed to take in several spoonfuls before her strength and lucidity both seemed to fade. As she sank back into sleep, Visha heard the mumbled words, "Make a great wife..."

Visha felt her face warming as she put away the bowl. It wasn't the first time the Major said such things during her illness. It was a bittersweet experience, hearing such things from the Major but only under a fevered delirium. Still, the important thing was she seemed over the worst of it. Judging by the reported symptoms from the flu epidemic spreading across the nation, she should be up and about in another week or so. According to the reports, Colombia was just the latest country hit by the epidemic. This particular strain seemed to spread particularly quickly. After the Major came down with the illness, orders had gone out for everyone to wear surgical masks in public.

She had just finished covering up the bowl and putting it back on the hot plate when Ernest came into the room. As the two women present who knew the Major's true identity, much of the nursing work had fallen on them. Ernest glanced at the utensils then asked, "She woke up?"

"Yes. Mostly lucid. Managed to take in some soup before going back under."

"That's a relief. Did you tell her what's been going on out there?"

Visha's face hardened. "With her health like this, the last thing she needs is to start worrying. Besides, we already know her orders. The peace is to be maintained and anyone who starts something is to be put down. Even if they are Americans."

Exactly three days ago, an entire US naval battle group had steamed over the horizon of Santa Marta. A battleship, two cruisers and four destroyers. Ostensibly, they were here to protect American lives and property and provide aid to the Colombian government in 'restoring law and order'. The Colombians had pulled out their own navy in response, but it was clear the government was reluctant to truly press the matter. The Colombian ships stayed well away, content with hugging the coast. American Naval Mages had openly started patrolling. The company of mages Colombia had scraped together in response stayed huddled above Santa Marta.

Visha didn't know if the Major had any contingencies for such a scenario. Still, the mission objectives were clear. Stillwater Security was still contracted to maintain the peace at Cienaga. Until that contract was cancelled, that was exactly what Visha planned to do. The Major would never run from her responsibilities, and seeing how the Major had named her as second in command, staying true to her leader's ideals was the least she could do.

* * *

**May 11, 1928, above the **_**USS Nevada**_**, off the coast of Colombia, near Santa Marta**

"So, we're finally getting our thumbs out our asses, huh," grunted Lt. Williams. Houston couldn't help but give a stink-eye to his fellow flight leader. The man seemed to take inordinate pleasure in acting like a crude naval rating instead of the mage officer he was.

Commander Kleberg ignored his subordinate with the ease of long experience. "That's the plan, boys and girls. We buzz over the commies as started this mess and drop a few volleys on them. Either they'll scurry back in their holes or they'll start a fight. And if it's the second, then our Colombian friends have an excuse to send in the army and shove 'em back in their holes. Either way, this strike nonsense will be over and done with."

"What about their mages? We know there's a dozen of them in Santa Marta." This query came from Lt. Stills. She was the Commander's second, and an inveterate worrier.

"That's why the other flights will be staying home. With the support of the fleet, they should be enough to see off the Colombians if they try anything."

Their little fleet had sailed with their full complement of mages. This meant the battleship _Nevada_ carried a full squadron of twelve, while the cruisers _Rochester_ and _Trenton _had flights of four each. Eight mages, with fleet support, should be able to see off any nearby Colombian mages or aircraft. As for the Colombian Navy, they had nothing close by heavy enough to take on _Nevada_ and they knew it.

"What about opposition at our end?" piped up Houston.

"Dunno if they're actually against us, but we've got some civvie security outfit called Stillwater. The government hired them to keep a lid on the commies, but they must've done a shit job seeing as how we're here. Still, they're supposed to have a few mages. Not enough to worry about though. We'll be outnumbering them maybe 3 to 1. If they're smart, they'll stay out of the way."

A few minutes later, they were under way. Ten minutes' flying brought them within visual range of Cienaga. That's when the ship's radio contacted them, letting them know they'd picked up magical activity over the town.

A minute later, the source of activity became visible. A lone speck flying a thousand feet above their target. A communication spell came in on an open signal, carrying a young woman's voice. "Attention unidentified mages. You do not have permission to overfly Cienaga. Please divert or state your authority."

The woman was speaking in Albish, but from the stilted words and accent she was clearly not a native speaker. The commander responded, "This is Commander Albert Kleberg of the Unified States Navy. We are here on a mission to protect American business and property from subversive elements. Please stand aside and clear the way."

"I'm afraid that is impossible. We are Stillwater Security and we have a contract with the Colombian government to maintain the peace during this labor dispute. Until our employers say otherwise, we cannot leave our station. However, if you wish to join us in maintaining the peace, you are welcome to do so, once you have obtained permission from the President."

"Look miss, that's not going to work. This so-called labor dispute is a threat to American lives and livelihoods, and we are going to end it today. Why don't you go talk to your bosses and see if they really want to fight the US Navy?"

The young voice suddenly sounded as ancient and cold as a glacier. "It is you who do not understand. I am Deputy General Manager of Stillwater Security, Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov! I am in charge, and it is my duty to maintain the peace! We do not wish for trouble, but we will _end_ any that we find! Consider yourselves warned!"

There was a long moment of silence as they digested this declaration. For once, Williams managed to sum up all their thoughts in his crude way. "That bitch be crazy."

"I don't know..." murmured their Commander. "Serebryakov... why does that name sound familiar?"

"It can't be! What in god's name is she doing here?!"

Houston couldn't help but stiffen. Stills might be a worrier, but even she rarely sounded that tense. "Lieutenant, care to enlighten us?" asked the Commander mildly.

"Commander, Serebryakov was second-in-command to Degurechaff, the Devil herself! If I remember right, that woman has _twenty-eight _confirmed kills."

Houston felt ice beginning to form in his stomach. No one said it out loud, but he was sure everyone was thinking how their entire company didn't even have five kills among the lot of them. "Maybe she's bluffing? Or an illusion?" he suggested weakly.

"Hell of a bluff if so," muttered Stills. "I've got a zoom on her face, she sure looks like the picture I saw of her."

"All right, calm down. War veteran or no, she's still human." Kleberg gave a stern look over his forces. "There's no way she can take on all of us on her lonesome, and she has to know it. Which means there's a trick of some kind. Most likely she's a distraction so any other mages with her can jump us. They're probably hiding in the town, which explains why she's flying so low. So here's how we're doing this. Houston, take your flight and keep her busy. The rest of us will hang back at 4000 feet and keep an eye out for any surprises. Everyone got it? Then let's move!"

"Uh, Commander, what happens if the Devil herself is here?" asked Stills in a small voice. "It's not like they ever found her."

"If Degurechaff puts in an appearance, then hang the mission. We all turn around and run like hell."

A nervous chuckle floated around at the Commander's dry tone. Once the brief moment of levity was over, they all advanced. Heart in his throat, Houston led his flight to engage the enemy ace.

As they came closer though, their enemy didn't seem to respond at all. The distance had closed to six hundred yards but the woman had yet to ready her weapon. Constant calls to stand down or surrender were ignored with equal aplomb. It was only as they closed to four hundred yards that a sudden suspicion gripped him, and Houston leveled his Winchester and snapped off a single shot. The woman's appearance immediately went fuzzy.

"Decoy!" Houston screamed, looking around frantically. It didn't take long to find her - the woman was practically on top of the Commander's flight. In fact, she had somehow closed to within a hundred yards without anyone noticing.

_How the hell did she get all the way over there? _That was all Houston had time to think before Serebryakov pulled the trigger, and a new sun appeared in the sky.

* * *

The biggest advantage of the Elenium Type 97 was not its higher power output, but rather its ability to cast far more spells at the same time than a single-core orb. This had allowed members of the 203rd to pull the trick of simultaneously casting a long-range decoy and a camouflage spell, making it look like they were somewhere far away from where they really were. Entire enemy formations had been ambushed in broad daylight under clear skies using this technique.

Neither the M27 nor the Libertador were capable of a similar feat of parallel casting. Which is why two mages had been involved in pulling off this piece of legerdemain. Teyanen, hiding on the top floor of a building, had carefully crafted an illusion of Visha at the edge of his ability, a little over a thousand feet in the air. Visha, under her best camouflage spell, had stationed herself at 8,000 feet.

Once the American mages had committed themselves, she'd gone into a guided freefall. By letting gravity do most of the work for her, she'd cut down on her mana signature, trying to stave off detection until the last possible moment. She'd had plans for what to do if she was spotted early, but in this case she got to within her optimal range of 100 meters before anyone could engage. That's when she aimed at the center of the American commander's platoon with her Remington, and fired a specially enchanted shell of 12-gauge double-ought buckshot.

Enchanting a bullet beforehand was a question of tradeoffs. An enchantment only lasted for about 24 hours, so as long as you had some magic to spare before going to bed, you could have a few bullets that you didn't need to spend magic on the next day. The trouble was, once a bullet was enchanted, there was no way to easily change or add spells to the mix. If you wanted a different magical effect than what you had loaded, then you had to waste a lot of power overwriting the existing enchantment. Most mages who bothered with enchanted bullets kept them in a separate clip, ready to load and use if a situation calling for that specific enchantment came up.

However, as the late Anson Sioux had demonstrated, shotgun shells were large enough to carry some very impressive enchantments. The one Viktoriya was using was something of a recent development that Tanya had helped her with. It was a cross between an illusion and explosion spell. What it did was create a brief but intense illusion of a blinding white light combined with a loud concussive blast, disrupting visual, auditory, and magical senses alike. Visha was prepared for it. The Americans were not.

Accelerating straight at the enemy commander, Visha closed to point-blank range before slamming down a disruption effect on the next shell and pulling the trigger. The disruption spell broke the commander's mage shell like spun glass, and the heavy buckshot pellets shredded his torso. Visha didn't know if the man would survive either his wounds or the fall to the ground below, nor did she care. Tucking the shotgun in one hand and pulling a combat knife in the other, Visha went to town.

The strategy, if it could be called that, was to stay as close to the American mages as possible. Their long rifles were less than useful at melee range, and her proximity would make them hesitate to shoot. Visha knew it wouldn't work forever. Sooner or later, the Americans would get enough space to catch her in a crossfire. But it didn't have to work long, just long enough. Below her, she could hear the explosions as the rest of her team charged the now-isolated platoon that had approached the decoy.

Mage melee combat was the single fastest and most unforgiving type of combat in the world. Visha would never claim to be as gifted in it as her superior, but having trailed behind Tanya for so long, she had more experience in it than almost anyone. After fifteen stunningly brutal seconds, Visha found herself in open space as her shotgun clicked empty. Frantic at being exposed, Visha immediately spun out a decoy as she threw herself into a desperate dodge while reaching for her pistol - and then she realized no one was shooting at her.

Looking around, she found the surviving Americans in full retreat. She counted six of them. Two of them she recognized as belonging to the command platoon. Both of them were sporting knife wounds, which meant she'd at least tagged them. Three from the second platoon that had been holding back. And amazingly, one survivor from the lowest platoon that had suffered the onslaught from the rest of her team. Speaking of her team, they were all arrayed around her - Teyanen, Vogel, Koenig, Walther, and Norris.

Looking around, Visha could quickly reconstruct what had happened. The rest of her team had blown right past the low-altitude platoon on their way to reinforcing her, which explained the survivor. Once they got to her, a brief skirmish had been enough to convince whoever had taken over command to call the retreat. Of course, if this had been wartime she would most certainly would have ordered a pursuit, but it wasn't and she hadn't.

Visha turned to Koenig. "Sitrep!"

"Six enemies confirmed down, survivors unknown. Only one injury - young Norris thought it was a fine idea to kick his opponent in the head."

Visha blinked, then looked hard at the teenager. "Well, that explains the broken leg. If you were in melee range why didn't you use your mage blade? You could have lost that leg!"

Norris' face reddened. "I was upside down. It was either kick him in the head or stab him in the foot..." he muttered.

"Ah come Visha, lay off the lad!" boomed Vogel. "It was an amazing sight! That poor bastard did a full 360 pirouette, with his head going an additional 180!" The big man slapped a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Congratulations on your first confirmed kill! Tonight, we celebrate!"

Visha rolled her eyes but didn't say anything. She knew from experience that the young man probably would need to get drunk once the full import of his actions sank in. Instead she turned to Teyanen. "Take Walther and go down there, see if we managed to get any prisoners. Koenig, you and Vogel get back to town and make sure this little show didn't cause any panic. Norris, to the infirmary. I'm going to check in with the... with Sarah."

As they headed back, Walther remarked, "When you do check in, make sure to make the battle sound as boring as possible. You know Ernest is going to be furious she missed out, no need to rub it in."

Visha couldn't help but join in the chuckles at that remark. Yet, she couldn't help but grow pensive. Downing six enemies for only one injury was a great effort, but was it enough? Had she lived up to what the Major had expected of her? Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because a private communication came in from Koenig. "The Major would be proud Visha. Today you proved yourself a worthy successor."

"You really think so? It still feels so strange ordering you around, you always had the higher rank."

"Not so strange to me. Everyone in the 203rd knew you spoke with the Major's voice. Now it's just official."

Visha felt her heart swell with joy. While the Major herself had said it before, Koenig's observation drove home how much the Major trusted her.

_Oh, I really hope the Major feels better soon! I can't wait to tell her everything that's happened! I wonder what kind of face she will make when she finds out we went and won a battle while she was out sick!_


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

_A\N: I now have a Pat Reon at /GremlinJack in case you like my writing enough to leave a tip!_

**Chapter 18**

**May 13, 1928, near Santa Marta, Colombia**

I was giving Visha my best glare, but instead of immediately coming to attention as she would have back in the army, she continued to hum cheerfully as she checked the temperature on the thermometer.

It would be fine. I knew it and she knew it. My fever had broken yesterday afternoon, but my subordinate had insisted I stay in bed in case of a last minute relapse. Now it was a beautiful and hot Sunday morning, I was feeling perfectly fine if a bit weak, and if Visha didn't stop fooling around and fill me in on what been happening since I had gone down, I would not be responsible for my actions.

She finally stopped fiddling with the thermometer and addressed me. "Well, looks like you really are all better. Still, you're not ready yet to go back to work. Are you really sure I should burden you with a detailed debriefing? Maybe we should wait..."

As she trailed off with an innocent smile that looked disturbingly sincere, I felt my right eye starting to twitch. I knew something big had happened, and even if it wasn't anything terrible, I needed to know. It seemed Visha was getting a bit too comfortable with civilian life if she thought she could get away with teasing me like this.

Smoothing out my irritation, I gave her my sweetest smile. "Visha. Do you perchance remember the way I handled subordinates who irritated me back on the Rhine front?"

Judging by the way her smile grew strained, she did in fact remember. Excellent. I continued, "Of course, those were the days when we were all under Imperial military law."

"Ah, that is true! We're just civilians now!" Visha agreed, a definite note of relief in her voice.

"Indeed, Visha. And that means my methods for dealing with troublesome subordinates are no longer _limited_ by the military code of conduct." I carefully kept up a pleasant demeanor to hide my inner amusement as I watched Visha's face pale and the last of her smile disappear. "Just as an example, Imperial Law specifically forbade using things like chains and whips."

Once Visha processed that statement, her face flushed and her entire body froze even as her eyes stared off into the distance. I blinked at the sudden change in expression, then nearly slapped myself. _Damn it, I overdid it. Now she's scared stiff. Really, Visha, after all this time you still can't tell when I'm joking? As if doing something like that wasn't even more illegal as a civilian! Well, unless you were into that... _My brain came to a screeching halt as I suddenly started seeing visions conjured by that last stray thought. _Curse you puberty, now is not the time!_

Mentally shaking myself to dislodge that nonsense, I was relieved to see Visha hadn't noticed, stuck as she was in what looked like a mild panic attack. Still, better snap her out of it before she did something I would regret. "Lieutenant!" my sharp bark, infused with every ounce of command authority, did an admirable job pulling her out of her thoughts and into something resembling coherency. I considered apologizing for making such extreme statements, but in the end if hyperbolic threats were what it took to maintain discipline, then so be it. So all I said was, "Now that we understand each other, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could start filling me in on what has been going on. Right. Now."

"Ah... right, Major! So, it was mostly quiet, but then on Tuesday the 7th..."

As my subordinate cheerfully recounted how she had attacked a company of American aerial mages, killing five and taking one prisoner, I could feel my face becoming frozen in the calm expression long and bitter experience had taught me to always present to others.

I wanted to scream and rage and curse her out for signing all our death warrants, but I was honest enough to realize this was my fault. Before I'd come down with the flu, my standing instructions had been to maintain the peace at all cost. While I'd entertained the possibility of outside interference, I'd always assumed I'd be there to guide the company through such a scenario. And even in my worst nightmares I hadn't expected an entire US flotilla! In fact, I'd put far higher odds on the Colombian government mobilizing its own army than to see any kind of foreign intervention.

The worst part was that I strongly suspected the Americans had been there with the permission of the Colombian government. Sure, Visha reported that Colombian destroyers and mages had actively started patrolling following the skirmish, but that sounded to me like ass-covering after the fact. Considering how we had received no warnings or instructions and the Colombian mages had made no attempt to intercept before the Americans got to shore, it was obvious in hindsight that the Colombian military had been instructed to stand aside and let the Americans do the dirty work of breaking up the strike. As for why the Colombians hadn't warned us, I could only assume they'd never even dreamed that a private security company would be insane enough to go up against the mightiest military in this hemisphere. I mentally scoffed. Clearly they'd never encountered the kind of battle maniacs that ended up forming the 203rd.

I considered explaining all this to Visha, but one look at her innocently hopeful face stopped me in my tracks. It was clear she was expecting to be praised for being a good subordinate, and I couldn't bring myself to dampen that enthusiasm. There would be enough doom and gloom in the future, so I might as well let her be happy for a little while longer. "That... is exemplary work, Visha. Well done. I was a bit worried about what might happen without me there to keep an eye on things, but you have certainly managed to... exceed all expectations."

Visha turned red as a tomato while bashfully shuffling her feet. "I'm just doing as you taught me, Major. And really, you shouldn't worry so much. You trained us all so well, I'm sure we can handle things on our own whenever you need to take a break."

"Yes, you've certainly proven that beyond doubt. I hope you're treating the prisoner well?"

"Oh yes, we've got him in Santa Marta's best hospital. He hasn't regained consciousness except briefly, but he should be healthy enough to question within a few days. We've also been helping the Colombians examine his orb. It's strange though, the thing is not nearly as good as what we are using. I thought our orbs were based on an American model."

I considered this, and details from the last report from Hughes Magical Works floated up. "The M27 was purchased by the US Army. The Navy insisted on a version specialized to their needs, so I guess these guys haven't been upgraded yet." To be exact, the Navy insisted on some bells and whistles (like depth-finder spells) that made the orb a bit more useful for naval mages. Of course, these little details didn't actually improve the combat performance of the orb one bit, but that didn't stop the makers from slapping the M28 label on it, and hiking the price by $3,000 per unit. The M28 had only been approved for limited production last month, so it's not surprising that mages all the way out here were still using what I suspect were the old 6F models.

Visha accepted my explanation, then went on, "The Government rep we talk to told us we were to carry on as we have been, and things have been pretty quiet over the last few days. I don't know if that will last though. Several people were close enough to witness the fight, and news of what the Americans tried have already spread. There's a lot of anger there, Major. I'm worried that the workers will start a riot. There's already been some people calling to burn the plantations to the ground and drive United Fruit out of the country. And that's not even counting the diplomatic shouting match that I've been hearing rumors of."

I nodded in agreement, "We're going to have to step up our patrols. Call in a few more squads of troopers and start patrolling more openly. Hopefully we can break up trouble before it gets organized."

"I'll get right on it!"

"And on your way out, get me a telephone."

"Major, you really shouldn't be straining yourself just yet..."

"I'm not going to leave my bed Visha. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to help. Besides, boredom is likely to make me sicker than a few telephone calls."

After a bit more fussing, she agreed to give me a phone, then left to see to the patrols.

I wished her luck, but to be honest it was just something to keep her busy. I'd already realized our contracts didn't matter anymore. The Americans had been given discreet permission by the Colombians to operate on their soil. By stopping them the way we did, Stillwater had deeply embarrassed both governments, not to mention the lives lost. The only reason we hadn't already been fired was probably because the Colombians wanted us where they could find us while they hashed out a deal with the Americans that kept them from declaring a war.

I had a queasy feeling that any such deal might include the head of one Sarah Witherspoon on a silver platter, so I frantically started calling every single ally I had in the Colombian government. I was not foolish enough to think the Colombians would ever choose my friendship over that of the Americans, but I was hoping I could at least talk them into giving me a head start.

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

When the _USS Nevada_'s mage company returned beaten and broken, the result on the American fleet was akin to a bucket of cold water to the face. The initial decision to send in the mage company had been taken as a cost-effective alternative to attempting an amphibious assault on potentially hostile soil. The Colombian Navy did have enough destroyers and frigates in local waters to outnumber the American flotilla, even if the flotilla outmassed them. If they chose to press the matter, the Americans would win, but not without hundreds of casualties. Thus Commodore Whitaker had approved a mage company to carry out what on the paperwork would be called a 'reconnaissance-in-force'.

The results were less than optimal. While resistance had been a possibility, no manner of planning had allowed for the resistance to be so fiendishly effective. The Commodore had contemplated pushing forward with the full weight of the flotilla and the several hundred marines that had been taken aboard for just such a purpose, but it was the identity of the opposing mages that had given him pause.

The woman leading the enemy mages had openly identified herself as Viktoriya Serebryakov. Recording spells from the survivors had gotten a clear image of her face, which had matched what little information they had on the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion. Even worse, one of the other mages had been identified as a Captain in the same battalion.

Whitaker was not someone who had ever paid much close attention to European aerial mages, but even he had heard of the single most highly decorated and feared mage battalion of the war. Which begged the question - why the _hell_ were some of the most dangerous mages in the world here in Colombia pretending to be a civilian security firm?

It didn't take long for him to reach the obvious conclusion - having established themselves as the supreme power in Europe, the Empire were now stretching out their influence to the other side of the Atlantic. Why they had picked Colombia of all places he had no idea, and he cursed Naval Intelligence for not having even hinted that the Empire might have an interest in the region.

On top of that, there was the mystery of Sarah Witherspoon. Local American contacts were confident she was Albish, and the leader of Stillwater Security, the firm the Imperial mages were supposedly part of. This was either some kind of smokescreen to try and blame the Albish (but if so, why did Serebryakov identify herself so openly?) or the Albish were actually making common cause with the Imperials in trying to force American interests out of Colombia.

Whitaker didn't know what to think. The local ambassador and the reps from United Fruit were clearly no help, since they didn't even seem to know who Serebryakov was. However, there was one thing the Commodore did know. Potential multinational intrigue was at minimum a fleet admiral's problem, and he wasn't even a flag officer. Naval officers were expected to act independently and show initiative, but that independence included knowing when a problem had exceeded their pay grade.

Thus, Whitaker chose to exercise his initiative by pulling back from shore, setting his flotilla on high alert, and scorching the airwaves demanding instructions from higher up while steadfastly ignoring any demands from local American officials or executives. In his considered opinion, the situation had long since exceeded the bounds of ordinary business, and he was NOT going to be the officer responsible for starting a shooting war with Europe.

* * *

When Commodore Whitaker started calling back to base for further instruction, his wasn't the only message headed for American territory. The American ambassador in Colombia, having been thoroughly chewed out by his hosts, was burning the telegram lines to Washington. The senior executive of United Fruit, panicking at the ugly mood sweeping through the workers along with rumors of the failed intervention, was screaming at the telephone for a connection to Florida. Then there were several other representatives of American companies that had been following the United Fruit debacle with interest, and who were now busy calling home asking if there was going to be war, and if so could they please come home, thank you kindly. And on top of that were visitors from other countries who thought people should know about the very public air battle near one of Colombia's biggest ports.

All through Friday night, government officials and business executives were running around like headless chickens trying to figure out what would be the appropriate response, and who should be blamed for this debacle. Because, at the end of the day, six ordinary soldiers would not have been worth mentioning. Six aerial mages, on the other hand, represented a significant loss even to a country as large as the Unified States.

Attempts were made to keep matters confidential, but with so many people in the know, information was bound to leak out. It might not have made the papers, but many important people had heard at least a garbled version of the news. And these important people included major investors in a variety of companies with an interest in South America.

When the stock market opened for its half-day of trading on Saturday, May 12th, initially there was a sharp dip in the stock of United Fruit, as those in the know sold out their shares. This naturally garnered the interest of various other investors who desperately tried to investigate why, but that thanks to the information blackout all they got was garbled rumors of chaos and death in South America. What started as a run on United Fruit stock quickly turned into a general loss of faith in any company involved in Central and South America. Even then the situation might not have been so bad, except most of the better-informed investors knew the American stock market in 1928 was heavily overpriced. With so many companies' prices dipping, they saw it as a sign that the bubble might finally burst. When the half-day of trading ended, the stock market had lost 4% of its value.

This was painful enough to garner the attention of the biggest players. Several major banks came forward promising to buy shares in the worst affected stock as an expression of confidence. The White House released a statement that there had been a minor skirmish in Colombia between American forces and 'local partisans', with the courageous American forces suffering only six casualties while their opponents had suffered a 'large but undetermined' number of fatalities. Even now diplomats were in negotiation to ensure a peaceful end to the situation, and it was fully expected that the ordinary course of business would resume in a matter of days.

These announcements were widely reported in the Sunday morning papers, and among the more active investors (who didn't stop work just because it was a Sunday) there was a growing feeling that the market might yet steady its course. Unfortunately for their growing sense of optimism, one particular detail had escaped the attempts at secrecy to arrive into the hands of two particularly well-connected reporters - the name of Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov.

One reporter got the information early on Sunday. He spent the morning frantically researching every scrap of information he could. When the afternoon edition of one of the country's most respected newspapers came out, it contained a fairly accurate biography of Visha, along with rampant but well-reasoned speculation on why one of the Empire's most capable mages might be fighting American troops in Colombia. The theories proposed included the Empire attempting to supplant American interests in South America along with speculation that the Devil of the Rhine herself might be involved, seeing as how Serebryakov had been her second-in-command.

The second reporter got the information much later in the day. A tabloid journalist with a deadline to meet, all he knew was that Serebryakov was a Russy name and that the woman was a mage. That was enough. One of the most widely read tabloids in the country ran a front-page spread declaring to all that the Rus had sent a battalion of their elite mages to overthrow the governments of South America and establish communist regimes. Older reports of the labor unrest in Colombia were held up as proof of the obvious Communist influence. The reports of the Communists disbanding their mages were nothing more than a ruse to pull the wool over the eyes of the unsuspecting West. Instead all those mages had been sent to conquer South America, starting with Colombia. Why Colombia? Because right next to Colombia was the Panama Canal, of course! The next step to the revolution was undoubtedly capturing or destroying the canal, and choking off one of the arteries of American business.

Both these reporters also had radio contacts, which meant both publications were followed up within hours by radio reports talking about the exact same thing.

The US Government immediately responded with a statement assuring the public there was no evidence of any sort of uprising or invasion - but when questioned about the presence of foreign mages famed for their association with the Destroyer of Brest, the responding denials were audible in their absence. Early on Monday morning, several major New York papers contained a letter from a respected scientist pointing out an explosion the size of the Brest disaster would be more than adequate for putting the Panama Canal out of commission.

When the stock market finally opened, it lost another 3% within the first hour. Then a rumor spread that the banks that had committed to buying shares to shore up the market had quietly cancelled their overnight orders.

At that point, the entire market entered a race to find the bottom.

* * *

**May 15th, 1928, Berun, The Empire**

Major General Zettour looked up as his old friend Rudersdorf barged into his office unannounced. The visitor was not long in communicating the reason for his unseemly haste. "Zettour! Have you seen the latest news from South America?"

The aging general nodded. "Colombia, to be exact. And yes, I have. Miss Serebryakov seems to be enjoying her American vacation."

"You knew about this?"

"Of course not. I knew Serebryakov planned to visit the Unified States. I honestly have no idea how she got from there to Colombia, but then she is no longer in the army so that is hardly my concern."

"I don't think you can afford to be quite so cavalier about this, my friend. The Americans have been demanding to know what the 203rd is doing in Colombia."

"The 203rd is disbanded."

"That's what we told them, at which point they claimed they'd positively identified other mages of the 203rd fighting alongside Serebryakov. They also seemed to insinuate Degurechaff might be involved as well."

"That's rich, considering we have strong circumstantial evidence that Degurechaff may have been hiding out and working for the Americans for years now."

"Yes, well, the latest Interpol reports place Jennifer Ecks, Degurechaff's suspected identity, in Colombia. The Americans are accusing us of using Degurechaff to run a long-term espionage mission into the Unified States, and now we are moving to cut off their South American influence. This has gotten all the way to the Kaiser. As you might guess, he is displeased."

"Tell the Kaiser that, considering how Serebryakov and other members of the 203rd have been leaving the country, it's far more likely the Americans are using Degurechaff to recruit some of our most talented aerial mages out from under us. These accusations against us are nothing more than a distraction from their own culpability."

"You really think so?"

"Well, what else are we supposed to think? We had nothing to do with Degurechaff's disappearance. The only thing we know is there is very strong suspicion she may have been involved in developing American combat orbs. As for Colombia, might I remind you America has a long history of intervention in that region? Much of Central America and the Caribbean is an American protectorate. For all we know, Degurechaff, Serebryakov and the rest have been recruited by the Americans to destabilize the Colombian government and usher in a new era of American control, and this whole so-called conflict is nothing more than a smokescreen to justify a full-scale occupation of the country."

"That's quite the theory, Zettour."

"But it holds together, which is enough to placate the Kaiser."

"And the fact that this scheme has caused their stock market to drop like a rock?"

"Unintended consequences, as might be expected of any such overly elaborate scheme. Markets recover, hegemony lasts much longer."

Rudersdorf pondered this for a moment, then gave a sigh deep enough to ruffle his mustache. "It makes sense as long as you don't think about it too hard. I'll write up a report and forward it to the Palace." He then fixed his friend with a gimlet glare. "Now, Zettour, tell me what you **really** think."

Zettour studied his friend for a long moment, then dropped his voice to a soft whisper. "I think Serebryakov and the rest of the 203rd have been leaving the country to join Degurechaff. Somehow, under all our noses, she managed to get the word to her former subordinates. And they have decided they prefer to serve her rather than the Empire. As for all the rest - the American orbs, the film, Colombia? I have absolutely no idea."

Rudersdorf chewed his mustache in frustration. "Why? What is the purpose in all this? What can she possibly hope to achieve?"

"I don't know, my friend. But I do know this. She had a mind for strategy unlike any other. Using the most disparate pieces of information, she could see patterns where all we saw was chaos. No one even dreamed the Francois could be so duplicitous, yet she saw it, and acted on it. I feel this is more of the same. All we can see are actions without rhyme or reason. It will only be after the fact that we will realize the method to her madness."

"But to what purpose, Zettour? Every strategy, no matter how insane, must have an ultimate goal."

"Ah, there is the rub. What is Degurechaff's goal? Three years ago, I could have said without hesitation it would be the greater glory of the Fatherland. Now? I think all we can do is pray it is not us she has in her sights."

There was a long moment of silence as the two friends contemplated the future. Then Rudersdorf spoke. "By the way, good news. We got Tirpitz."

Zettour's eyes sharpened. "So, the old Admiral is on our side?"

"I wouldn't say on our side, so much as he thinks we need a Chancellor that actually knows how to tell the Kaiser 'no'. And you're a much better option than, to use his words, 'that penny-pinching ass-kisser Siegfried'."

Neither of the generals needed to say out loud how significant this was. Tirpitz had been Secretary of the Imperial Navy for almost thirty years. The 'grand old Admiral' was an institution unto himself. If it wasn't for his steadfast refusal to leave his precious Navy, the man could have made Chancellor decades ago. He represented the single largest unaligned power bloc in Imperial politics. With his support, Zettour was effectively the most viable choice for Chancellor. Of course, the Chancellor served at the Kaiser's pleasure, and right now Siegfried von Roedern had the Kaiser's support. Still, even the Kaiser couldn't completely ignore political sentiment, particularly not when his public support had been growing shaky as the Empire had been slower than expected recovering from the stresses of the war. With Tirpitz throwing his weight behind Zettour, it simply became a matter of keeping up the pressure on Roedern. Inevitably, the man would make a slip, and the Kaiser would have no choice but to replace him with a Chancellor that actually enjoyed a degree of political support.

Zettour glanced at his oldest ally. "You know, you could probably make an even better candidate for Chancellor. You have a certain way with people. I tend to make the gentler sorts nervous."

Rudersdorf huffed. "I thought about it. And I realized something - I am old. Yes, yes, I know you're even older than me. That doesn't change the fact that I am old too. And as I grow older, I find myself less and less inclined to throw myself into conflict, even in the political arena." The general seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, before continuing, "The truth is, I am comfortable where I am. The Army can be equal parts delightful and frustrating, but I am used to it. To leave this and go to the Palace, to wrestle with our Kaiser on a daily basis over the fate of our nation? No, I am more than happy to leave that to you."

The two longtime friends sat in silence for a moment, before they both lit up their cigars at the same time. "Well, here's hoping," puffed Zettour. "Speaking of, how is our friend Brigadier Lergen doing?"

"Quite well I hear," responded Rudersdorf. "Colonial administration seems to suit him. Morocco is on its way to being fully integrated into the Empire, and the locals seem far happier with him than they ever were with the Francois."

"That is good to hear. Better than the quagmire in the Congo."

"Indeed. Having it declared the Kaiser's personal property was a mistake. He's pretty much given free rein to the corporations to do whatever they please," mused Rudersdorf.

"You don't know the half of it. I have to field constant complaints from the garrison commander about Captain Grantz."

"Isn't he one of Degurechaff's? What has he been doing?"

"Refusing to massacre the locals when they object to being enslaved, apparently."

"Good man," rumbled Rudersdorf. "We're supposed to be civilized. Unlike the damned Francois."

"Roedern was the one who proposed that mess, it is his cronies who are benefiting. So look on the bright side, my friend. If Congo blows up, it will be more grist for the mill."

* * *

**May 16th, 1928, New York, Unified States**

The dark-haired young woman glance around before entering the diner. Slipping into a private booth, she faced her superior. Who looked distinctly odd, and somewhat younger, dressed in a casual shirt and pants.

"Captain Strong," she greeted.

"Ensign Sioux," came the response. "How goes your undercover operation?"

"Interesting and frustrating. I am learning far more about more traditional forms of spellcraft than I ever expected to know. Some of it is quite fascinating. I have also confirmed that Jennifer Ecks was the one who trained the CEO of Household Magicks, so the link is there. But so far, they refuse to send me to Velvet Iron for combat training until I am closer to eighteen."

They both paused as the waiter came by with a pot of coffee. Mary Sioux noticed the Captain had ordered for her as well.

After pouring enough cream and sugar into the brew to make it palatable, she took a careful sip. As she did so, the Captain remarked, "While that is interesting, it's hardly useful. In the meantime, we confirmed Ecks disappeared to Colombia where, surprise, surprise, other mages of the 203rd have started showing up."

Mary nodded. "Yes, I've heard. Do you... do you think it was deliberate?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this whole stock market crash. 'Black Monday', they're calling it. Do you think she deliberately started the whole fight just so she could trigger the collapse?"

The Captain chuckled. "Degurechaff is a soldier, not an economist. The market will recover soon enough. Besides, what reason could she possibly have to do something like that?"

"Captain, I know our theory is she might be working for some clandestine branch of the American government, but what if they had a falling out? It would certainly explain her suddenly starring in that picture. A way of giving the finger to her former allies and making her presence here public. And now she's in Colombia deliberately screwing with American interests."

"You think her actions are motivated by petty revenge?"

"It's as good an explanation as any. Besides, she already turned her back on one country. Turning her back on another would only be easier, whatever her reasons."

"Interesting, but its all speculation Ensign. Now, do you want to come in? I really don't think you're doing much good where you are, and all the action seems to be in Colombia."

"Does Interpol have permission to enter the country, then?"

"No, not yet. Honestly, Interpol's needs seem pretty low down the list, the diplomats all seem to agree on the primary importance of bananas."

"Bananas?!"

"My reaction exactly."

The ensign shook her head in disbelief. "Well, as long as we're stuck here, I might as well stay in place. Besides, Captain, here's something else I heard. Turns out, I'm not the first combat-rated mage to join Household Magicks. Before me, there was a young man named Charles Norris. He was sent here for the same reason I was, being underage. Here's the thing though, a few months before his eighteenth birthday, he was transferred. Destination unknown, but he talked about leaving the country."

"You think Degurechaff sent for him?"

"90%. I think Degurechaff insists on personally training every combat mage that she comes by. Barrow was trained by her. The 203rd was trained by her. And Norris was sent to be trained by her. I think I just have to sit tight, and soon I'll get an invitation right to wherever she is."

Captain Strong was silent for a long moment, then he nodded. "Very well. This is as good a lead as any. I'll get in touch if anything changes."

"Thank you Captain. Oh, I forgot to ask, is the harlot back yet?"

Strong chuckled. "I didn't know you cared, Ensign. Yes, Roth's been back for some months now. Apparently the Kaiser is pissed. The Imperials came to the same theory we have, and they've been raising Cain in diplomatic channels."

"Watch me weep," came the dry response. "I should get going Captain. Don't want to get spotted."

"As you say. Goodbye, Ensign. And good luck."

* * *

**May 18th, 1928, Santa Marta, Colombia**

I had just returned from Bogota after meeting with the Minister for Foreign Affairs. I figured that was as high up the governmental food chain as I could get on short notice. The man had gone to considerable length to assure me that my actions had upheld the honor of Colombia. He had also mentioned that much of American ire seemed to be aimed at my aerial mages, and that the Americans were accusing the Colombians of signing a secret treaty with the Empire.

That last might have been an honest misunderstanding, except Visha had quit the Empire months ago, passed through American immigration, and had clearly identified herself as an employee of Stillwater. All the others had also openly resigned, some of them years back. I refused to believe American intelligence was so incompetent they weren't tracking the full details of some of the best aerial mages in the world. No, it was obvious this baloney about the Empire was just the Americans giving the Colombians an out. Claim Visha and the others were agents of a foreign power, throw them out, and war need not be declared.

It was a pretty good deal for the Colombians too, since it allowed them to get rid of the people who had spoiled their little understanding with the Americans. If my experiences with Imperial justice had taught me anything, it was that no one holds a grudge like a politician embarrassed. I chalked it up to my efforts to build goodwill that we hadn't already been deported.

The foreign minister had also been kind enough to mention the diplomats were still negotiating, but that the talks should be concluded in a month or so. That was the deadline I had to quit the country.

Now that I knew I had a bit of time, I could wrap things up properly before I left. Sunrise Botanicals was running with almost no input from me, so I didn't need to do much other than brief the CEO to deny everything. A trickier proposition was the hundreds of troops working for Stillwater Security. I couldn't simply fire them, especially when they were doing some genuinely useful work propping up both Sunrise and the Coffee Growers Association. In the end, I decided to have Velvet Irons Protection perform a corporate takeover of Stillwater. All the employees that the Americans hadn't identified (which basically meant all the non-aerial mages) became employees of VIP, and Stillwater effectively ceased to exist.

Sure, the ruse wouldn't fool a child, since I was sure by this time my pursuers had connected my Jennifer Ecks persona to VIP. But it would force the Americans to prosecute a company based in their own country, enjoying the protections of the American constitution. It would also give the Colombian government a degree of plausible deniability, which I hoped they put to good use. Poor Lena would probably curse a blue streak because of all the extra paperwork I just landed on her, but her own fugitive status meant she was unlikely to betray me and I was willing to take ruthless advantage of that.

By sheer dint of seniority, I ended up placing a man named Josef Perez in charge of the Colombia branch of Velvet Iron Protection. A grizzled veteran of the war for Panama, he had the respect and the experience to hold the troops together. Tony Almeida would act as his second and his liaison to VIP head office.

The only aerial mage who was going to stay back in Colombia was Charles Norris. Surprisingly, the young man wasn't too upset about having had to fight fellow Americans. He was, however, reluctant to head any further from home, since he had ambitions to return to the Unified States one day. Well, I doubted he had been identified given how badly mauled the American mages had been. As long as he took some basic precautions, he should have no problem avoiding any arrest warrants. In the meantime, Perez would have at least one combat-mage grade on call, which would undoubtedly prove handy.

Still, I felt a bit bad leaving Norris all on his own. The only time I'd flown solo in combat had been during my first deployment over Norden, and it sucked. I decided he needed a wingman. My first choice would be Barrow, but I knew he was doing a sterling job beating the new recruits into shape. Lena needed him where he was. That left the girl over at Household Magicks. I fired off a telegram instructing her to be transferred to Barrow's tender care for basic training. Once she'd been trained in the basics of ground fighting, she'd be sent over to Colombia for aerial mage training under Norris. Training another mage was a big responsibility, but I had high hopes. Norris had proven himself both dedicated and talented, and in pure skill I'd judge him on par with most of the 203rd during our first deployment to Dacia. He still had a ways to go, but his fundamentals were solid, and I was sure he'd do an adequate job training up his wingman when she got here.

I also instructed Norris to keep an eye out for Becker and Royce. True to his word, Becker had left for Colombia after six months, and he was accompanied by one last ex-203, one of Weiss' old subordinates by the name of Royce. I'd have liked them to support VIP in Colombia, but I had no trust in the discretion of those warmongers, especially with the Americans bleating about Imperial interference. So, Norris' job amounted to handing them my forwarding address and sending them on their way.

As for me and the members of the 203rd who, for whatever insane reason, persisted in following me - I had already decided on our next destination.

Visha had filled me in on the odd conversation she had with General Zettour. It was clear he was suggesting that a fugitive might find a friendly place in Congo, particularly if they had friends among the former 203rd.

I appreciated the invitation, I really did. But I just couldn't trust it. The Empire had already sold me out once. The only members of the 203rd I felt I could trust not to report me immediately would be my company commanders, and members of the company I had personally lead. And the ex-203rd would hardly be the only Imperial soldiers in the Congo. Now, it was possible Zettour had already foreseen all of this and had made appropriate arrangements. But I couldn't be sure, and showing up and hoping for the best was no way to test it.

No, Congo was still a viable destination, but I was going to do this by stealth. Unlike my previous efforts that had at least involved entering the country in a semi-legal fashion with open declaration of my business, I and the members of the 203rd would be entering entirely illegally. After all, I was no longer hoping to conduct legal business, I simply wanted somewhere to lay low from the manhunt.

Fortunately, I was aided in this by the undeveloped nature of much of Africa. I'd already bribed a cargo ship heading for Africa to take us aboard without bothering to record our presence. Once we got close, we'd sneak ashore on one of the many stretches of African coast unwatched by magic scanners. Once ashore, even our fair skin tone wasn't too big of a problem. I'd been training all of them in low-profile illusions, and Point Noir, the primary port of the Congo, had a large population of whites.

No, I was not going to risk my freedom by trying to re-establish contact with the Empire. They had washed their hands off me, and I was happy to return the favor. I was determined our sojourn in the Congo was not going to create so much as the tiniest ripple where any Imperial official could spot it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Getting into Imperial (formerly French) Congo didn't take too much effort. As I had suspected, magic detection only really existed in the area around the main urban centers. I verified this when we picked out a spot from hundreds of kilometers of jungle coast and flew ashore. If there had been any kind of detection system, either aircraft or mages would have been sent out to investigate our presence. Yet, after over an hour spent hiding in the brush, we saw not a sign of the local military.

Confident that no one had detected our presence, I led my team along the coast to Congo's biggest port city, Point Noir. Along the way we perfected our disguises. I had briefly toyed with trying to pass ourselves off as natives before immediately dismissing the idea. The more complex an illusion the more power and concentration it took and the easier it was to sense. Since Visha had confirmed that Congo aerial security was being seen to by former members of the 203rd, we couldn't take any chances.

During the two-week trip to get here I'd drilled them mercilessly on using civilian orbs to maintain an illusion that couldn't be detected unless a mage was literally on top of you. These illusions were used to make subtle changes to our faces to make us unrecognizable, but otherwise we relied on haircuts and cosmetics to maintain our disguises. I, for example, put my hair in a pixie cut and dyed it black, and changed my eyes to a dull green. Visha actually changed her own features to match mine so we could pass ourselves off as sisters. The others took similar steps.

Of course, once we got to Point Noir, the question became what to do next. We couldn't stay there, it was far too well policed for my taste, with a platoon of mages on patrol. Fortunately, there was no need for us to maintain a presence in the port. I'd initially planned to have Norris instruct Becker and Royce to join me in Africa, but on reflection I realized their arrival in the Congo might as well paint a red flag for anyone looking for me. Instead, I'd left sealed instructions for them and any other members of the 203rd to either join Velvet Iron, or head to London and join up with Tilbury Security. I figured people had to be tracking the movements of the former 203rd after the chaos Visha unleashed in Colombia, so let my pursuers waste time investigating companies that I planned to have no further active involvement in. Only Lena could confirm my true identity, and after so long working together I trusted her to keep her mouth shut.

As for those of us who were already in Africa, I decided it was time for a vacation. It was strange to admit, but sometime in the past year, I'd joined the ranks of the moderately rich. And what do rich white people in Africa do in the 1920s? Why, they go hunting! While I myself only saw it as a useful cover, having no particular interest in endangering the local wildlife, Koenig and the boys all seemed excited at the thought of bagging themselves some big game. I pointed out how they couldn't possibly keep any trophies. Ernest pointed out that ivory, at least, had a ready and valuable market. I snarked back that if they really were going to be collecting ivory for cash, then they wouldn't mind me putting them on half-pay, seeing as how we were on vacation and everything.

I should have known better. With the exception of Visha, my entire team accepted the challenge, declaring that they could easily make up for lost pay with the spoils of the hunt. I even tried warning them that ivory in Africa sold for only a tiny fraction of what it would eventually fetch in Europe or America, which meant they'd have to hunt down a small herd each month to make up the loss. This only seemed to spur them on to greater heights of enthusiasm. Vogel declared loudly that no pachyderm on the continent would be safe. I decided not to reply that that was exactly what I was afraid of. I could already feel the anger of a hundred million 21st century animal-lovers reaching out across time and space to strike me down. I mentally told them to get in line. The extinction of the African elephant was a small price to pay to keep my little pack of manic myrmidons happy.

All exaggeration aside, I didn't actually except them to make too much of a dent in the elephant population. While I'd taken the opportunity to put them through some jungle warfare training in Colombia, South America is not Africa, and they were ultimately aerial mages. Even with magical aid, stalking big game was never going to be a specialty of theirs. Especially when I refused to hire hunting experts to guide us. While hiring a few natives as porters was inevitable, the big game experts were almost all white gentlemen and including one of those in our party was an unacceptable security risk. This meant the idiots would have to find, shoot, and harvest the animals using only native help and their military training. Not that ramping up the difficulty seemed to deter them.

One good thing to this silly self-appointed challenge of theirs, my team basically took over the entire planning for the expedition. I could relax and nap in the heat with Visha's coffee by my elbow while they ran around getting everything ready. With Koenig in charge, the whole thing was arranged with commendable efficiency. Maps were drawn, routes decided, porters hired, tents and supplies gathered, and essential sundries like medicines and mosquito nets acquired. There were even some books and interviews with experts on the best ways to kill an elephant. I paid for most of it without demur, but I did draw the line at a load of high-caliber Mauser hunting rifles. Our Winchesters Model 15s were perfectly adequate for almost anything the African jungle could throw at us. And if they did need a little bit of extra oomph to bring down an elephant? Well, that's what magic was for. There was some grumbling but I shut it down by calling it extra training - how to apply an adequate penetration effect while using a civilian-grade orb.

Besides, while it might have its limits as a big game gun, the semi-automatic Winchesters were excellent tools for hunting the only game that concerned me, the most dangerous game of all. Pursuant to this philosophy, our group also had two Thompson submachine guns, even though I hoped they would stay in their wrappings for the entire trip.

It was in late June that we departed for the depths of the Congo interior. We were well-armed, well-supplied, and with a reason to go around armed to the teeth that no one could question. I figured I could spend months hiding out in the interior without raising a single eyebrow. By the time this safari was over, either the attention would have faded or a war would have started, and either way I'd have a good chance of vanishing into the woodwork.

* * *

**June 3, 1928, Amstredam, The Empire**

"Your Highness, there is no need for you to be here personally," General Richthoffer said. "The men know their duty."

"And that is why I must be here, so they know the Crown appreciates the risk they are about to take," replied the Imperial Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm. "It is a lack of gratitude that precipitated this crisis, let us not make the same mistake again."

The General carefully hid the wince at the indirect criticism of the reigning Emperor. While concealed from the public, it was known at the higher levels that the Crown Prince had been strongly opposed to the eventual settlement of the war. His had been one of the voices calling for outright annexation of Francois and Legadonia, while using the threat of Major Degurechaff as a stick to wave at the other powers.

It was somewhat recently that the Kaiser and his son achieved something of a rapport, as they were now in agreement that steps needed to be taken to bring Degurechaff to heel. As long as there had been no clear clue as to her whereabouts, there had been little the Empire could do besides support Interpol. Now that it was clear that Degurechaff was not only selling her expertise to the Americans but also rebuilding her own mage company using the disaffected members of the former 203rd, it was decided the Empire needed to take a direct hand in the matter.

It was a shame, mused the General, that instead of taking a more diplomatic route, the Crown insisted on capturing or killing the renegade. As the newly minted Chief of Air Operations it was Richthoffer's job to reach that dubiously achievable goal. Still, orders were orders, and he was a soldier, so he did his best to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

The two men entered a small room where six aerial mages waited, their unit badges indicating the 207th Aerial Mage battalion. The men went ramrod straight as they realized they were in the presence of royalty. "Your Highness!" greeted their leader, his rank tabs denoting him as Captain.

"At ease, gentlemen," replied the Crown Prince, drawing up every bit of royal gravitas. "Before your general gives you your final orders, I am here to speak a few words on behalf of the Crown. First and foremost, I would like to thank you all for volunteering for this extremely dangerous and thankless task. I know there are many, even among your comrades, that look upon Degurechaff as a hero of the Empire. And they are not entirely wrong. Once upon a time, she was one of our greatest heroes. But now, if she is a hero, then she is without doubt a fallen one. I will not pretend the estrangement between her and the Empire was entirely one-sided. But whatever may have come before, the fact remains Tanya von Degurechaff now represents a threat to our nation's security. She is the only person in the world to have ever successfully used a quad-core computational jewel, to often devastating effect. Now, we have learned that she has been working closely with foreign nations to develop combat orbs of her own. Undoubtedly her ultimate goal is to recreate the Type 95, and restore to herself the ability to destroy armies at will. Even worse, she has been recruiting her own private army, to what purpose we can only imagine. Gentlemen, it is now a fact that she is not just a threat to the Fatherland, but to the stability of the world as a whole! The nation has called upon you in this dark hour, and you have answered! You are the heroes today, gentlemen! And I salute you!"

Suiting word to deed, the Crown Prince saluted the men, getting back a salute in response. After which, the prince stepped back and General Richthoffer stepped forward. "All right men," said the General. "You've had time to study the briefing materials. Remember that the Empire doesn't have a diplomatic presence in Colombia, so once you sneak off the ship you're on your own. We know Degurechaff is disguising herself either through magic or surgery. But one thing she can't hide is her companions. You've all had the chance to study the profiles of the former members of the 203rd Mage Battalion. Degurechaff likes to surround herself with her old subordinates, so that's your clue. In order to help you find them, the boys in Elenium Labs came up with a portable magic scanner. Not as wide a range as a full installation, but it should still pick up all active magic use within about 50 kilometers."

Richthoffer took a moment to see if any of the men had questions, then continued. "Once you find her, your orders are simple. You are to capture her if possible, kill her if not. We would greatly prefer it if you could capture her and bring her home, but the woman is simply too dangerous to be allowed to run free. Once you have completed your mission, or you have spent six months without locating her, your exfiltration will be by ship. You have a list of sailing dates for friendly vessels leaving Colombia. If you need to leave in a hurry, then all of you have enough power to make the crossing to Morocco. In an emergency, you may fly to our embassy in Mexico City, but that should be a last resort."

After the next pause, the General's took on a darker tone. "Given the danger of your target, all of you have been authorized to carry Elenium Type 97s for this mission. Men, you need to guard those orbs with your very life! They represent the Empire's single greatest advantage in magical combat. Should you be captured, we shall try our utmost to secure your release. But under **no** circumstances should a Type 97 be taken intact. Are there any questions?"

There were none. "Very well, gentlemen. Your boat leaves in two hours. Goodbye, good luck, and god speed."

* * *

**June 10, 1928, Cartagena, Colombia**

Mary Sioux couldn't help but glare at her boss as they both landed after another hard afternoon of flight training. Charles Norris still looked relatively fresh while she was utterly exhausted - which should be _impossible_ seeing as how Mary literally had three times as much magic as him! Of course, over the last month she'd become painfully aware just how far her US Naval Mage training fell short of the standards of someone like Tanya von Degurechaff.

First there had been the two weeks of 'basic training' at Velvet Iron Protection's New York office, which had seen her placed under the cruel tutelage of Joe Barrow. Mary couldn't believe the transformation that come over the open friendly man the minute the training started. He literally beat the principles of magic-reinforced hand-to-hand combat into her. All her magic power didn't help her a bit, in fact it only made it more difficult for her to strengthen herself without burning out the civilian-grade orb she was forced to use.

When her basic training was finally over and she was sent to Colombia, she was relieved to finally have the chance to confront the target of her search. Only when she got there, Jennifer Ecks was gone, as was every other member of the Imperial 203rd. Instead all that awaited her was more training, this time using a proper flight orb. She'd originally expected to breeze through this portion of the training. Instead what had followed was a solid week of steady humiliation as a boy less than a year older than her - and one who had been undergoing aerial mage training for only a few months - repeatedly ran rings around her in midair.

Not that the training wasn't useful. She was learning a lot. If this was the results of training under the Devil of the Rhine, she could see why her battalion had achieved the notoriety it had. Far from giving her an advantage, she was having to unlearn a large portion of her lessons from Naval Mage training as they were prove less than adequate. It chafed her soul to have to learn the lessons taught by Degurechaff, but learn them she did. Somewhere along the line her pride as an aerial mage had been kindled, and she refused to let herself fall below the standards set by that Imperial witch.

After they landed, Charles turned to her with a genuine smile. "Good going there Madelaine. You almost managed to tag me today."

"Ah, thank you sir."

"Don't sir me, I keep looking around for Commander Ecks. I wish she was here though. With power like yours, you really need someone on her level to train you."

"You're doing a good job running me into the ground," muttered Mary ruefully. "And you really don't know where she disappeared to?"

"No. All she would say was that it was all a secret and only combat vets were invited. Must be some kind of really dangerous job. Maybe they're going to take down a government?" Mary rolled her eyes at the amused note in Charles' voice.

When Mary had first arrived, she'd carefully tried to probe and see just how loyal Norris was to Degurechaff. After all, he was an American citizen, he shouldn't share the same fanatical devotion as her Imperial subordinates. His response, which basically amounted to 'Who's Degurechaff?', had thrown her for a loop.

It turned out Norris had initially signed up with Velvet Iron for a steady paycheck. Later, he fell in love with flying and couldn't see himself doing anything else, but he neither knew nor cared about the goings on in Europe. Norris only seemed to care that the pay was good and he was not asked to participate in anything obviously criminal himself. As such, he neither knew nor did he want to know what Ecks and company might be up to, on the grounds that what he didn't know couldn't make him an accessory.

Perhaps the most annoying thing about him was that in spite of his horribly mercenary mindset, Mary couldn't help but like him. His cheerful friendliness, good work ethic, and open enthusiasm for his work as an aerial mage all struck a chord with her. She felt sure he would have made a fine addition to the US military, and promised to herself to try and recruit him once her assignment here was done.

As the headed back into the city, Charles spoke up again. "You know, they might not be to the standard of Commander Ecks, but there are a couple of experienced mages who've shown willingness to train the both of us. Interested?"

"What, really?" Mary's eyes narrowed. "Wait is that why you insisted on coming to Cartagena?"

"Yep. I was actually scouting for some prospective employees. They're both veteran mages. They haven't yet made up their minds about joining, but they seemed willing to stick around for at least a little bit as trainers."

Mary immediately had a suspicion of who these 'veteran mages' might be. Sure enough, sitting at an outdoor cafe were two men whose pictures she recognized from her study of the 203rd. Klaus von Becker and William Royce. One the son of old Prussian money, the other the son of an Albish expatriate. _Could they be my lead to finding Degurechaff? Charles said they might not join. Is it possible they know where Degurechaff is and are planning to go there themselves? I can't imagine them coming all the way here for any other reason._

It was perhaps because she was on high alert, but the four of them had barely exchanged greetings when Mary started getting the feeling that something was very wrong. Pushing out of her seat, she started looking up and down the street. Charles looked up at her. "Maddy, is something wrong?"

"Can't you feel it?" Mary hissed, turning to glare at the two veterans. "There is definitely something off about these two."

That's when the two mages fizzled and vanished into thin air and a voice spoke from within the cafe in thickly accented Albish, "You were right, boy. This one does have talent."

Emerging from behind the doorway were the same two mages she thought she had been speaking to. "Illusions? What's the big idea?" growled Mary, even as she began to unconsciously power up her orb.

Becker raised a calming hand. "Easy there Fraulein. Just a little test. If we are to be training you, best we know where you are at, _ja_?"

Charles was nodding along. "Madelaine is very talented. She's been doing this only for a few weeks, and she's already picked up how to fly."

"Well, we shall see. We have some months we can spare. Got mit uns, you two might be not entirely useless by the time we are done."

* * *

**July 16, 1928, somewhere on the Congo River**

It was a little over three weeks into our African safari. Our little expedition had taken wide detours into the hinterland, but had generally followed the course of the river that gave this land its name. We were now coming back to the river to take a rest stop at a trading post that was supposed to be there, and I was glad when we finally found it.

Not because I wasn't enjoying the tour. In spite of the heat and the insects and the thick jungle, the sheer freedom that came with being somewhere no one in authority could possibly recognize me was intoxicating. While I still maintained my disguise near our native porters, the long walks that I took accompanied only with members of my battalion gave me the chance to drop the disguise and let my real face enjoy the sun. No, the reason I was glad to see this trading post was because of the large quantity of ivory that had slowed down the expedition to a crawl.

When we had first started out, it was as I expected. Locating elephants proved far more challenging than killing them, and even with the help of local guides my inexperienced companions only enjoyed the occasional success. Then just a couple of days back we'd heard rumors of a massive herd that was denuding a village of its crops. There must have been thirty of the beasts. Even with me preventing them from killing the calves - and Visha persuading them to leave enough adults alive to look after the children - my companions downed eighteen adults and drove off the rest. Even with hiring extra porters from the village, hauling around over a metric ton of ivory got old real fast.

Finally, we came to the trading post. It actually looked a surprisingly pleasant place. It had a proper dock instead of a makeshift pier, and the structure was more of a fortified villa than the usual hardscrabble outpost. Even the jungle had been cut back quite a bit to give way to a small vegetable garden and fruit orchard. Some considerable effort had clearly gone into making the place livable.

After the porters had been paid off Visha and the others went in to haggle over prices. I myself had the camp set up and my lawn chair pulled out so I could kick back and enjoy the afternoon sun, since I anticipated the bargaining to take a while. From what I knew, the Imperial African Trading Company, which had a virtual monopoly on the trade of ivory and other forest products, operated on a fixed price system. They had a price they would pay for certain goods, and the local trading post owners would acquire the goods at whatever price they could and pocket the difference as their fee. Of course, out of this fee the trader had to pay for maintaining his outpost, getting supplies, hiring labor, and all the rest of it. As a result, it was in the trader's interest to gouge his suppliers as far as humanly possible.

For the local tribes, this meant instead of being paid in cold hard cash, the trader would often pay them in tools, alcohol, cloth, and other products of civilization - at exchange rates far above market price. And even for white folk like ourselves who wouldn't be fobbed off with beads or booze, the local traders would invariably fight over every mark and pfennig. Given the sheer quantity of ivory we had hauled in, the verbal jousting would be epic.

Indeed, I'd actually had time to take a nap, and the sun was beginning to set by the time Visha approached me. She even came bearing a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Alas, even as I took a delicious sip, I could tell I was not going to enjoy it as much as I usually did. Visha had a particular way she was fidgeting - the pose she adopted when she had done something foolish but was going to insist on being stubborn about it. Like her habit of gambling her wages for extra supplies for the battalion.

"All right, Visha, out with it. What has gone wrong this time?"

The story immediately came tumbling about. It seems in the course of bargaining she'd managed to somehow get the trading post owner's life story out of him. He'd been part of the first wave of Imperial entrepreneurs after the French had been kicked out of the territory. He'd apparently sunk most of his savings into this place, planning to make a life here with his family. However, in the very first year, both of his children had fallen terribly sick from some variety of jungle fever. Only rapid evacuation to the nearest city had preserved their lives. That particular scare had soured him on the whole deal, and to make matters worse he had started getting sick himself, affecting his work. Now he was stuck here alone while his family stayed in the city. The expense of maintaining two domiciles was eating away his profits, there was nothing he wished for more than to move back to the Empire but he lacked the money to do so - it was at this point I put up a hand to stop the flow of words. "Let me guess, you swallowed that sob story whole and agreed to give him the entire load for almost nothing?"

"Um... well...no...I may have agreed to buy his trading post."

I paused for a moment, before taking a long sip, then putting my cup aside and focusing on her. "I see. And how much is he asking?"

"I managed to negotiate him down to 90,000 marks. And if we close the deal soon, we can sell our entire load directly to the company. That's over 60,000 marks right there!"

"Except that 60,000 doesn't belong to either of us. It belongs to Koenig, Walther, Teyanen, Ernest, and Vogel. That was the deal."

"Ah, I spoke to them, and they're willing to take half. So really, we'll be paying less than 60,000 for the place - "

"Where's this 'we' coming from?" I interrupted. "Unless you've come into some sort of inheritance lately, I'll be the one shelling out 60,000 marks."

"Ah, yes, well, either way, even with the added expense of running the place, you should be able to get your money back in three or four months! And, well, you were planning to hide out here for a while..."

"Visha, the mark of a good investment isn't whether you get your money back or not, its how much profit you make afterward. Besides, what possessed you to think I had any interest in wasting my vacation running a trading outpost?"

"Please, ma'am? The man really needs help..."

Great, now she was giving me the puppy dog eyes. Considering how it was not at all infeasible to earn back my investment in short order, I was on the verge of agreeing. Yet, at the last moment, I felt the slightest tinge of resentment. Perhaps I was still upset about my forced relocation from Colombia, because all I could think was that this was the second time in a few months Visha's unilateral actions had forced me into doing something I didn't want to do.

"Perhaps," I replied, "If you want to perform acts of charity, you ought to take responsibility yourself instead of shoving it onto others?"

"Oh, you want me to run the outpost instead?"

"I want you to buy the outpost, run it, and show a profit. I'll loan you the money. And you have exactly six months to pay me back. Or else."

"Or... or else?"

I gave her my sweetest smile. "I'll write up an agreement."

Later that evening saw Visha and me in our shared tent, looking over the paper I'd written out.

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Visha. "It says here you're charging me interest at 2% a month! That's 24% a year!"

"Welcome to the world of monopolies, Visha. The Imperial African Trading Company has a monopoly on the ivory trade, so they set the price. I have a monopoly on cash reserves, so I get to set the interest rate."

"But..."

"Besides, what are you worried about? You said you can cover the debt in three months. What's a few extra thousand on top of that?"

"It's still too mean..."

"You know what's meaner? Me upping the rate by another percent if you don't stop whining and sign it in the next five minutes." I gave her a small glare to emphasize my words.

To her credit, she still tried to use the few minutes to peruse the rest of the document.

"So... basically... if I fall short on paying you back, for every two thousand marks I am short by, I have to spend a year working off my debt?" asked Visha in a dubious tone.

"Basically," I agreed. "You don't get paid since I'll be covering all your daily needs, and you'll have to do any work as long as it's not dangerous. Oh, and two minutes left."

She chewed over this a bit. "So, sort of like an unpaid adjutant?" Visha asked with a slight smile.

"Sort of. One minute."

"All right, all right, here," she said, handing over the signed document.

"A pleasure doing business with you Visha," I replied, handing over a check for 60,000 marks.

She groused a bit more, but I could tell she was pleased at this opportunity to stretch her wings. After all, I was ceding control of the entire company to her, since the rest of my troops had heard of our wager and had agreed to help Visha out as long as they got to keep half the sales.

The next morning, as they all got to work with the current owner setting up the transfer and preparing the ivory for transport, I took our smartest, best spoken native guide with me and bade them all farewell.

"Where are you going, Major?" asked Koenig.

"I keep telling you, it's either ma'am or Tanya. And since I have no interest in watching you lot play hunter-gatherer, I'm going to continue this little safari on my own."

"All by yourself? Ma'am..."

"Are you suggesting I am incapable?" My offended glare choked off any response. Rolling my eyes, I continued, "I'm not going that far, only around the nearby areas. I'll be within communication spell range, and I'll check in in person every two weeks."

"Ah, all right. Be careful, ma'am."

After the various goodbyes were made, I headed on my way. As I walked away, I couldn't help the broad grin stretching across my face. Ah, poor, sweet, naive Visha. Was it cruel, what I planned to do to her? Perhaps. But after all the trouble she'd caused me recently, I felt I owed her a good, sharp shock. True, what I was about to do might end up costing me tens of thousands, but I could afford it, and I felt it worth the price for a spot of vengeance.

I knew that Visha's calculations were wildly optimistic. First, she was assuming Koenig and the others would be able to bring in ivory at a rate comparable to what they had achieved this month, when the herd we'd come across was the very definition of 'windfall'. Second, the income figures the previous owner had been quoting was predicated on paying the hunters a pittance, not the 50% Visha had agreed on with the others. In spite of all that, considering what I knew of her efficiency and work ethic, it was entirely possible Visha would still be able to pay off her debt within the six months.

Well, she would have, if it wasn't for what I was about to do next. Turning my grin on the nervous looking guide, I addressed him in his preferred French, "Henry, your task now is to introduce me to all the elephant hunters in the area."


	20. Chapter 20

_I now have a snippets archive (check my profile) where I place my short writings both original and fanfic. First up is my very first original short story!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 20**

The colonization of Africa, particularly in the Congo where one set of colonial masters had just been replaced by another, had created a rather interesting situation in local politics. "Interesting" in the Qin sense of the term. Like any relatively small country trying to dominate a much larger landmass, the Francois Republic could not hope to hold their far-flung African territories without the consent and collaboration of their native subjects. Thus, the French had gone to considerable effort to depose or co-opt the local tribal chieftains in order to eliminate organized resistance to their conquest. This led to the rise of a new group of tribal strongmen, who owed their position not to native tradition, but their ability to curry favor and earn rewards from their colonial masters. The system had worked for centuries, the pre-19th century slave trade having been fueled by captives who ran afoul of the new order. Once the slave trade went defunct and their colonial overlords turned to exploiting the land's natural wealth, these tribal rulers also changed with the times, becoming the people who organized the hunters, the laborers, the miners and work crews that kept the colonial trade empire profitable.

Considering I was asking the local hunters to go against that system - to deliberately sabotage the trade that was the lifeblood to many of these people - I knew I'd have to do something special. In fact, if this had still been the era of the Francois, it would likely have been impossible. It was only because the Imperial hold on the territory was still far from solid that I could make any headway. As it was, mere bribery wouldn't be sufficient. I had to not only promise them a large reward for their cooperation, but I also had to instill in them a sense of fear and respect for me. Simply put, even as they contemplated the rewards of following my advice, they had to think twice about earning my wrath.

This led directly to where I was now. Facing down a massive bull elephant with a truly impressive set of tusks. The creature was eyeing me with bloodshot eyes, its semi-erect male member leaking pungent fluid declaring to all its species its readiness to fight and fuck anything that came its way, a state technically categorized as _musth_. As I made eye contact with the sex-mad beast, it trumpeted out a challenge.

Next to me was Michael Ngoy, chieftain of the largest and most influential tribe of hunters and ivory gatherers in the region. In his hands was an old but massive double shotgun, the proverbial 'elephant gun'. As the elephant made noises that clearly indicated its displeasure with our presence, he eyed my dinky little Winchester and held out his own weapon, the offer clear. I smiled and tossed him my gun instead. This was, after all, a demonstration.

Even as the man fumbled in surprise with my weapon, I drew my combat knife and trotted forward. Back in my days with the 203rd, I'd carried a standard issue Imperial bayonet. While serviceable as a close combat weapon, it was much inferior to the bowie knife that I'd made standard for Velvet Iron Protection. Ten inches of perfectly balanced razor sharp steel twirled in my hand as I advanced on my prey.

The elephant was not shy in taking up my challenge. As I closed to within forty yards, the aggressive animal lowered its tusks and charged, the ground rumbling under its weight. As the multi-ton creature bore down, I smiled as I felt the magic flowing through me. While I was still using my civilian orb, the feel of the M27 sitting in my pocket reassured me of my safety. My forward movement turned into a counter-charge, and the two of us closed the distance in two seconds. At the very last moment, I applied just enough thrust to push the civilian orb to its limits, propelling myself into the air. The elephant stood almost twelve feet tall at the shoulder, but I cleared the height with ease before it even knew what was happening. Twisting around in midair, I used a reinforced grip on its rough skin to pull myself into a sitting position on its neck.

Even though I hadn't planned to kill any elephants myself, I'd still paid attention to the various experts Koenig had hired to coach us back in Point Noir. To shoot an elephant, the absolute best place is on the side of the head, in the line between eye and ear. It was in the center of this line that I buried my mage-blade-reinforced knife, right up to the hilt. Almost instantly the beast dropped to its knees, before slowly collapsing like a grey avalanche. Throwing myself off, I rolled to my feet, and I was walking back to Ngoy by the time the corpse settled.

He was still staring at the dead elephant as he shakily handed my gun back to me. Finally he found his voice: "So, these other white hunters, they are like you?"

"Not as good as me, but good enough. Do you understand? If you let them succeed, they will replace you. You will go from proud hunters to mere porters and guides." I responded. One good thing about this trip, my spoken French was improving quite a bit.

He didn't speak for a while. Instead, he merely watched silently as his fellow tribesmen that he brought for this hunt swarmed over the corpse, harvesting not just the tusks but also the meat. Elephant meat, I had learned, had a rather distinct flavor and texture. While not unpleasant, I'd prefer a decent steak of beef, medium rare, any day. Still, I could tell I would be partaking of elephant tonight, and I resigned myself to pretending to enjoy it.

Finally, Michael gave voice to his thoughts. "I understand what you say. Still, you must meet shaman. This is big thing you ask, only with his say will we proceed."

One of the interesting little curlicues to Congolese politics was the presence of the shaman. The traditional tribal structure may have been broken by the French, but even the new class of collaborator-chiefs still relied on the shamans to soothe local dissidence. While I don't know if it had been true in my past life, here and now the shamans remained an important part of local culture, in spite of the best efforts of colonial authorities and missionaries. Perhaps because this time they had genuine magic to back their claims.

It was honestly a bit frustrating. I'd expected them to be a bunch of herbalists with delusions of grandeur, yet it was clear _something_ of a magical nature was happening when these shamans went into their trances where they 'communed with the spirits'. Whatever it was though, it was too brief and subtle for me to tell with my unaided senses. I'd only met two shamans so far and whatever they did when they entered their divination trances, it escaped my grasp.

Still, I had my theories, and hopefully I would be able to answer some of them today. The shaman I was going to meet, Shaman Abara, had something of a reputation. He was rumored to be 'as old as the forests and hills', and had clearly been around for the better part of a century. He was also someone the other shamans had mentioned as being their guru. I was hopeful that he was a more powerful mage, and would thus be more visible to my senses.

Later that evening I found myself in a small hut with a tall, heavily tattooed old man. Shaman Abara observed me for a long moment with eyes that were still sharp in spite of their age. He then started mixing a bowl from various herbs in front of me. I was no botanist, so I had no idea what it contained, but I recognized many of the ingredients as being items the other shamans had used. However, his bowl was definitely bigger than whatever the others had put together. Perhaps this old fellow had a higher resistance to whatever narcotics and toxins were present in the mixture?

To my surprise, after mixing one bowl, he then mixed up a second smaller one, before offering it to me. While I was curious about what this mixture was, I had absolutely no interest in poisoning my body with it. I tried to beg off, saying, "No, thank you. I am not a shaman. This is sacred to your people, isn't it?"

He smiled, then reached out a finger and touched my hand. I stiffened as I felt a tingle of magic run through my body. "Power." he croaked. "With this power, you may use sacred herb. Let us look into mysteries together."

All right, at this point it was obvious I was dealing with the genuine article. An orbless touch-based magic-scanning spell was outside all my previous experience, yet this old coot had pulled it off as if it were nothing. That still didn't mean I wanted to pour this mix of unknown ingredients into myself just to keep him happy. "Forgive me, but I do not have your wisdom. I fear it may be wasted."

He studied me for a moment. Then he reached out and grabbed my bowl, before pouring out about half of the mix. Handing me the lightened bowl, he said, "Here. Herb for weak apprentice."

_Oh, this old fucker_. He'd just called me out, handing me the tenderfoot special. Before I could formulate a reply, he was pouring his own full bowl down his gullet. Wiping his lips, he sat back into the lotus position. Even as his breath grew heavier, I could feel my magic senses reacting. I'd already been sure, but now I had confirmation: Shaman Abara was much more powerful than the previous shamans. I could feel the magic gathering in his stomach, before flowing through the rest of his body and directly into his brain.

_A mental enhancement spell._ That's what these spirit communions were about. Somehow, the herbal mix allowed the shamans to enter a magical mentally enhanced state. This was certainly interesting. Unfortunately, mental enhancement spells were some of the hardest to analyze. I knew the shaman was mentally enhancing himself, but I had no clue exactly what effect this enhancement had. I myself had several different mental enhancement spells I could apply to my own brain. The shaman could be using one of them, or something completely different.

As I sat there trying to puzzle out what I was sensing, I became aware of his sight on me. In spite of the metaphorical fireworks going off in his skull, Abara's gaze was as sharp as ever. He looked at me, then at the bowl in my hands, then back at me. The message was clear. Yet still I hesitated to poison myself. That's when he spoke, "Do or do not. There is no try."

_Did... did that fucker just quote Yoda at me?_ It was absurd, Star Wars did not exist in this world, and wouldn't for fifty years. Yet, allowing for the French, the quote was unmistakable. Could... could this be the effect of the mental enhancement he was under? Something which allowed him to transcend time and space itself to find the perfect words to make me do his bidding? Because I knew those words meant I couldn't resist any longer. Whatever was in this mix, I had to try it at least once.

Of course, just because I was going along with this didn't mean I couldn't stack the deck. Swallowing the foul-tasting herbal mix, I then readied my M27, and triggered a combination of physical and mental enhancement spells designed to promote clarity and strengthen my body. Whatever effect this mixture had on me, I could use proper, _civilized_ magecraft to mitigate the consequences.

I felt the mix hit my stomach. Just like the shaman, I could feel the bubbling churn of magical energies. I suspected that for a weak or non-mage, the mixture would just make them high or sick. But with me, I could feel the energy flowing through my body. Reaching out to it, I guided it to my mind. And then. My world. Exploded.

If asked later, I would call the sensation impossible to describe. But the effects were something like a supercharged form of pattern recognition. As an earthy haze clouded my coherent thoughts, I could feel puzzle pieces falling into place. Every single thing crowding my waking mind suddenly started making all kinds of sense. Ivory and rivers and tribes. Resources and places and tribute. The laws and the customs and my desires. Rivers and forests and the pulsing sinews of trade. And most of all, the people, the most vital part of any vital economy.

As I came down from on high, I realized one more thing - there's no way I'd be able to remember all of this without help. Diving across the hut to my backpack, I pulled out a pen and a notepad. Then I poured in power from my M27 into the last vestiges of my trance, and started scribbling down any and every thing I could remember. I was still writing frantically when the last of the trance faded. At that point I put aside pen and paper and crawled to a corner of the hut before starting to vomit my guts out.

Apparently, puking and passing out after a vision quest was a time honored tradition, or so Abara informed me. Given everything else, I wasn't going to rule out him making fun at my expense. Still, his own visions had led Abara to advising Ngoy into agreeing with my terms. Since this was what I wanted, I didn't question him too deeply. That didn't stop me from being greatly disturbed at the contents of my notebook, once I got round to studying it.

I had four pages of disjointed scribbles that I could piece together into a few hints towards streamlining my future plans. Mildly useful, but what was concerning was the way I had scattered Visha's name throughout my notes, with neither rhyme nor reason. Clearly my subconscious was trying to tell me something.

It took me a few days to divine the reason behind Visha's prevalence in my thoughts. It was obvious in hindsight. She was, simply put, the only girl close to my own age that I both respected and had significant experience with. Was it any surprise that my hormone-driven subconscious would fixate on her? I didn't see any cure for the situation except to outgrow my teenage years. All I could do was keep a firm watch on my actions and remind myself that, whatever my desires, Visha was still my subordinate and had also shown no interest in women, so letting my feelings show would only make things supremely awkward.

Of course, knowing my feelings for her wouldn't stop me from teaching Visha a lesson. With Abara and Ngoy's support, I had almost complete influence among all the hunter-gatherer tribes within range of Visha's outpost. I didn't want the outpost to fail entirely - that would mean a big loss from my own pocket. But I felt Visha had taken the cut-throat world of business far too lightly, and I would be the agent for the punishment of her hubris.

I didn't sit idle while I waited for my machinations to bear fruit, though. My notes had made it clear that I needed to be considerably more active if I really wanted to create something worthwhile. And I might be on vacation, but that's no excuse for doing a shoddy job. As Visha and the others continued to toil away at the outpost, I discreetly flew down to Point Noir. There were many preparations to make if I wanted to properly recoup my investment.

* * *

**Somewhere in Colombia, September 18, 1928**

When the attack came, it caught Mary completely by surprise. She'd been traveling back from a nearby town after a shopping trip when a tear-gas grenade exploded in her face. She was too busy coughing to even see the rifle butt that smashed into her skull.

When next she came to, it was with a strange pressure on her chest. Focusing past the agonizing headache, she realized she was in midair, suspended by an arm wrapped around her chest.

Looking around, she saw that the person holding her was part of a group of six aerial mages, floating in midair. In front of her, she spotted Becker, Royce, Norris, as well as four other mages. She didn't know the names of the newcomers, but she did recognize their leader as an officer in the Colombian mage corps.

Becker and Royce, she noticed, had their weapons aimed, and magic building in their spells. Becker shouted something she didn't understand, but she recognized the language as Germanian.

The person holding her shouted back in the same language.

Mary might not speak Germanian with any degree of fluency, but thanks to her exposure to Elya Roth, she knew a native Germanian speaker when she heard one. Her insides grew cold as she realized exactly who she had been captured by.

She didn't know why aerial mages from the Empire might be holding her captive. But there was no mistaking the desperation she saw in Norris' face. It was entirely possible someone had discovered her true allegiances, and this was an attempt to silence her. She didn't even have her computation jewel, the weight around her neck telling by its absence. Given no other option, she started to pray.

Mary was a devout girl who regularly said her prayers, but she was not in the habit of praying during combat operations. She only did it now as an alternative to crying and panicking. And yet, as the final words left her lips, she felt a growing lightness in her chest. Almost as if she was once more under the effect of magical reinforcement. Suddenly she felt her captor's gun digging hard into her back as he started screaming something at her. Panicked, Mary flung her arms out wide - and the superhuman grip of the Imperial was broken like a toddler's clutch.

As she fell away, Mary saw the Imperials bringing their guns around to target her. Mary didn't have a gun or a computation orb, but she could still feel the unexpected energy filling her up to the point of overflowing. Calling up every ounce of her God-given power, she extended her hands and blasted raw magic at her enemies.

When the light from the blast cleared, the enemy mages were mostly unharmed, but they definitely looked shaken. As they brought their guns around to aim at her falling form, Mary realized all her fervor had bought her was a stay of execution. Then multiple streaks of light blurred across the skies and impacted with the Imperial mages. Explosions stitched their way across their shields, sometimes shattering them entirely, and then Becker, Royce, and the Colombians had dragged the Imperials into a scrum, mage blades flashing.

Even as the air battle above her was joined, all Mary could think of was the water beneath her. A small part of her mind not busy panicking noted that her captors must have moved her to the coast before her rescuers caught up with her. She tried praying again, but her magic seemed entirely worn out by her earlier efforts. All she could do was desperately force what little magic she had into her torso and head, and then she slammed into the sea.

* * *

**"What do you mean, they think I'm Tanya von Degurechaff?"**

Mary had always been brought up to be a polite young lady who didn't scream at others. In this case, she felt her mother would make an exception. Sitting up in her hospital bed, this latest bit of news had momentarily banished the pain of her broken ribs.

Klaus von Becker looked upon her with exasperating calmness, before saying, "The people who captured you were Imperial mages looking to capture Major Degurechaff. Your raw magical power, and seeing you with me and Royce, made them believe so. We killed two of them, but the others are undoubtedly reporting back as we speak."

"It doesn't help that we encouraged them," piped up Royce.

"Meaning... what?" Mary decided that she would appreciate Charles' defensiveness on her behalf later. In the meantime, his question mirrored her own thoughts.

"Ah, you do not speak Germanian?" remarked the _absolutely infuriating_ Becker. "Well, when we discussing things with Imperial mages, we always call you 'the Major'. Other things, we also do, to convince them you are Major Degurechaff in disguise."

"Why?" Mary would have screamed it, but the pain from her injuries was making it hard to breathe.

It was Royce who took up the narrative in his much better Albish, "Well, to be honest, we don't know what the Major is doing. But we figured, if folk are willing to send out aerial mages after her, best they keep looking in the wrong places. So we did our best to convince them you are her."

Mary took a few shallow breaths, trying to calm herself and not aggravate her ribs. "You cannot believe this will work for long. I am not Tanya Degurechaff, and I will scream it from the top of the world if I have to!"

"Ah well..." Mary felt her heart drop to her stomach. Royce was talking with the tone she had come to associate with people delivering bad news. "You remember how you prayed to the Lord Almighty right before you blasted the entire group hard enough to drain all their shields?"

"Yes...?"

"See, the Major was also real famous for praying right before she unleashed hell on those who crossed her. Now that you did the same... I'll be honest, if I didn't know otherwise, I'd believe you were the Major too."

Mary felt sick. She had known about Degurechaff's battlefield prayers, but having the parallel drawn between Degurechaff and herself was enough to make her hurl. "But... but all of you know that I'm not her! You can tell them!"

Klaus gave a deep sigh, before getting to his feet. Then he bowed deeply to her. Head facing to the floor, he said, "Fraulein Smith, please understand. Our first and foremost loyalty is to the Major. If setting you up as her double buys her even a few days of respite, that is what we will do. However, that does not mean we will leave you adrift. The Major always taught us to take responsibility for our actions. Rest assured, I and Royce will stay by your side to protect you unto the death... or such time as the ruse has been seen through."

Mary stared at the man, before speaking, "So... you're real sorry about setting me up to be Degurechaff's fall girl... but not sorry enough to do anything about it."

"I'm not sure we _can_ do anything about it at this point." spoke up Norris, frustration clear in his tone. "I've already been firing off messages to anyone who'll listen that the whole thing is a case of mistaken identity. But I don't know how many believe me. Even with the Colombians, even though the person I talked to officially believed my explanation, he was giving me the metaphorical wink and nudge."

"Indeed, Fraulein," broke in Klaus cheerfully. "Even without our help, there are few who will believe you are not the Major. You do not look like her at all, but that is explained by you growing up and getting cosmetic surgery."

There was a moment of silence as Mary contemplated the surreal horror that had become her life. Then Royce broke the silence, "Hey, look on the bright side. At least the Colombians think their mages got killed for a good reason."

"Killed?" Mary's eyes shot up to meet the others at those words.

Royce winced. "Ah, even after we got drop on them, they fought very hard. Two of the Colombians didn't make it, and it was damn close for the rest of us. Well, what can you expect when you're up against the Type 97 orb?"

"Type 97... the dual core orbs? Are you sure?"

"Miss Smith, me and Becker are former members of the 203rd. Trust me, we know the Type 97 in action when we see it. Those jokers might have been the 207th - the battalion they made to replace us - or they might be some other new formation, but they were definitely using the Type 97. Luckily, they weren't using it all that well."

"Really?" asked Norris, before indicating the bandages wrapped around his arm and torso. "They seemed damn deadly to me."

Klaus scoffed. "Thank your good fortune you never face us. They were good at flying and shooting but their decoys were shit. Training standards gone down the drain after the Major left. Type 97, it is amazing orb. The Modelo 1928's good, but 97 much much better."

"Huh," mused Norris. "Did we manage to capture any of them?"

"Only bits and pieces from the two we killed," replied Royce. "Maybe the Colombians will get some use out of it. More useful will be that neat little toy they found in their rooms. Apparently it's some kind of portable magic scanner. I'll try and get involved in the analysis..."

As her so-called comrades lost themselves discussing what was known about her attackers, all Mary could do was seethe in growing resentment. She knew this wasn't actually Degurechaff's fault, the fugitive had nothing to do with her countrymen being a bunch of idiots. That still wouldn't stop Mary from figuring out some way to add this latest humiliation to the charge sheet when she finally arrested that infuriating woman.

* * *

**October 1, 1928, Wagner Trading Post, Imperial Congo**

I walked into Visha's office and plumped into a chair. "So, Visha, I've just been looking over your books, and I think it's time we had a little chat."

She couldn't hide her wince. "I know it's not going all that well, but business can still pick up! I still have over three months left before I have to pay you back."

"You think so?" I asked cheerfully. "Because it seems to me in spite of the boys helping you out, income has dropped to a quarter of what it was under the previous owner and it just keeps falling. Even if we optimistically assume it eventually recovers, that will still leave you well in the hole when your little debt comes due. That means you'll be stuck serving me for years. Looking forward to it?"

Her face flushed a bit as she gave me a pout. "Well, it's not like the work will be any different from what I was doing before this..."

I burst into laughter. "Oh, Visha, you are adorable. You didn't read that contract too carefully, did you?"

Judging by how round her eyes went, she was getting an inkling of where I was going with this. "W-what do you mean...?"

I didn't stop the grin extending across my face. "Visha, the way the contract is worded, I get to decide every single thing about your life and you have to do anything I want unless it directly endangers you. For example, I've been toying with having you be my personal footstool. And your work uniform would consist of nothing other than a dog collar stamped 'Property of Tanya Degurechaff'. What do you think?"

Judging by the thousand yard stare and increasing hyperventilation, I had made my point. Still if anything proved how naive Visha was, it would be her terror at the scenario I had outlined. As if a contract like that was actually legally enforceable. I reached across and patted her on the head, breaking her out of her little bout of panic. "It's such a shame how the local trade just seemed to dry up all of a sudden."

"Yes, I... wait a minute." Judging by the suspicious look she was giving, the penny had finally dropped. "Ma'am...Tanya... did you have something to do with all this?"

"Me? How can you accuse me of such a thing? Are you suggesting I may have demonstrated to the locals just how lethal a magical hunter can be if allowed to find their prey? That I may have insinuated to them that you planned to replace them all with foreign wizards? That should you be allowed to succeed, they will find themselves relegated from proud hunters to menial laborers? Or that I might have promised them a far better deal if they could successfully pull off a campaign of civil disobedience targeted at you?"

Visha was gaping at me like a fish, jaw opening and closing as she tried to find words. I just sat back and enjoyed her stupefaction. Eventually she got over her surprise. "Why would you even do something like that?!"

"Partly revenge. I didn't appreciate you trying to drag me into managing a trading post in the African jungle just because you felt sorry for that one guy. Admit it, when you proposed that deal you had simply assumed I would take care of the running didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but then I agreed to run the post when you said no - "

"And I decided to test you to see if you were actually taking this seriously. And I confess myself disappointed. You made one of the cardinal mistakes of business, Visha. You ignored your stakeholders."

"Stakeholders?"

"The people who had a stake in your business. You assumed that just meant our little group. When in reality we are the least invested in this business, because if it doesn't work out we can all just move on to something else! No, it is the locals, the hunters, the guides, the foresters, the ones who actually make a career of supplying outposts like these, they are the ones with the biggest stake in our success! And you mostly ignored them, simply assuming they will take whatever deal you offer them!"

I admit I got a bit passionate at the end there. I couldn't help myself. Visha, I, the rest of my troops, we were all ultimately temporary hires, here for just a few months. The real human resources to this business have always been the locals. Of course, Visha had simply been taking her cues from the previous operator, but just because something had worked in the past didn't mean it could not be improved upon. Looking at Visha, I could see she had wilted into her seat, seemingly on the verge of tears. Well, that won't do, I didn't want to actually discourage her from trying to improve herself.

I lifted up her chin to look into her eyes. "Visha, don't be so down. You made a mistake, it happens. But the question is, where do you go from here? I hope you're not just giving up."

Wiping her eyes, she smiled broadly at me. "Of course not, ma'am! You're right, I did neglect the locals. Not any more, though! I have to talk to them I think, figure out what they want to start working again."

"Indeed. If only you had someone who had already built a firm rapport with these people and could tell you what they wanted..."

"Wait, you want to help now?"

"Well, I did cause the problem. Only fair I help fix it. Oh, and if you were wondering, you need to make a tangible gesture towards the locals. Something to make them believe they are a valuable part of your business model."

Visha pondered my words for a moment. "It's not just going to be giving them more money, is it?"

"A higher price for their product is a good place to start, but what else?"

"I think... I'll also have to let them know Koenig and the others will be leaving in a short while, so they're not actually a threat to their livelihoods."

"I can handle that part."

"Yes... but also something else. Something to make them believe we care about them... maybe a clinic?"

"Oh?"

"Yes! And schools! Oh, many of these places don't even have clean drinking water!"

I clapped. "All excellent long term projects for preserving our human capital. But you want to start with something that will show immediate benefits, both for them and the business."

"What do you suggest?"

"Come with me."

I led Visha over to the little warehouse attached to the docks. Inside it were several crates that had arrived just last hour on a supply boat. Visha looked at the seals stamped on the crates. "Cold Steel Trading Company?"

"Just a little something I set up when I took a trip down to Point Noir. Found a few managers who came highly recommended. Since I was going to get involved in this business anyway, I'd decided to do it properly. Frankly, the way the Imperial African Company treats its suppliers is positively criminal. The only reason they get away with it is because they have almost no competition. I checked the laws though, and while they have some privileges, they do NOT have a legal monopoly. By the time they realize Cold Steel exists, I plan to have co-opted half their network out from under them. Speaking of which..." I handed Visha a document. "This is the prices Cold Steel is willing to offer to those signing an exclusive contract."

Visha looked through the price list, and I could see her eyes widening. "Seventy two marks to the kilo for ivory? And the fruit and herb prices too..."

I nodded my head. "We can afford it easily. Frankly, it's ridiculous just how badly the small traders get gouged. The idiots at the top don't seem to realize this thievery is at least part of the reason why this territory remains so poorly developed. They should have been doing everything possible to attract entrepreneurs to expand their network, not robbing the few souls willing to brave the African jungle."

When I was in Point Noir I'd taken a good hard look at the colonial business model and I could only shake my head in disbelief. The whole system still seemed to be operating on an 18th century paradigm where long-distance trade of any sort was a high-risk affair and you needed a ridiculous margin just to cover your risks. Few seem to have noticed we were in the 20th century where you could afford to make long-term plans, building infrastructure and goodwill in order to expand the market rather than obsess with immediate profit.

Pulling her attention away from the price list, Visha turned to the crates and gave me a questioning look.

Taking a crowbar I pried open the first crate, revealing a gleaming array of guns.

Visha immediately started inspecting them. "Wait... these are those Mauser hunting rifles Koenig wanted and you refused to buy."

"I refused because none of us needed them. The locals on the other hand - have you seen the kind of crap they have to work with? Some of the poor fools are still stuck using spears! Honestly, I don't understand why no one's been arming them. Their ability to hunt directly impacts the volume of business!"

"I think they're worried the locals might start shooting at them if they had decent guns," came Visha's dry reply.

"Well, that's what happens if you don't treat your employees properly," I sniffed. "We'll use these first few guns as a gift to soothe ruffled feathers, and we'll also let it be known that more weapons are available for trade - and not at a ridiculous mark-up either. And it's not just guns..." I was prying open more crates as I spoke. Camping gear, rations, flashlights, first aid kits, camouflage kits, useful drugs and medicines. Pretty much everything a hunter in the African wild needed to keep himself at his lethal best.

"Of course, some of this stuff actually requires some training to use properly. I suggest you put the boys to work as teachers and trainers. That'll reassure the hunters you're not trying to replace them, as well as improve their effectiveness."

"Yes, of course, I... I just..."

"Visha, what is it?"

"It's just... here I've been fooling around with this one outpost. And you've already put together a plan to take over the whole country. I just... I just wanted to show you I could do something on my own..."

Well, now I felt like a heel. Taking her hand in my own, I rubbed it gently. "Visha, Visha, hey, calm down. It's not your fault they never sent you to War College. If you had my training, strategic thinking like this would come just as easily to you I am sure. And I suppose I am partly to blame as well. I should have been taking this opportunity to train you up instead of making your life difficult."

She gave a soft chuckle. "And you complain that we keep calling you Major. Is everything a training exercise with you?"

"Constant self-improvement is the best way to maximize your own value," I replied firmly. "Besides, I hope you realize, I'm not doing all this for free." At Visha's inquisitive look, I continued, "First, you're still in charge. I'll introduce you to the local chiefs but it will be up to you to win them over and get them back to work. Going forward you will also have to decide what you'll be trading and how much you'll be offering. You'll have to negotiate supplies and deliveries with Cold Steel, don't expect any breaks just because I'm the owner. I'll teach and advise you, but I'm still not running this for you."

"Yes ma'am! I understand!"

"Second condition: the deadline! Our initial plan stays in place. Come mid-January, you'll be selling this outpost and we will be moving on. I refuse to be stuck here any longer than that."

"Understood! Um... is there anything else?"

I was about to tell her no, when the imp of mischief reared its head. "Yes. You should start shopping for a dog collar."

The expression on her face was priceless. I immediately burst into laughter. Her subsequent concentrated pouting only increased my mirth. Even though my vacation was over and I was once more hard at work, I couldn't help but feel all was right in the world.

* * *

**Elsewhere in the world...**

The skirmish between the members of the 207th and the mages of Colombia and Velvet Iron Protection had an effect on international politics that could euphemistically be described as 'significant'.

Colombia opened up with an accusation of the Empire violating its sovereignty and murdering Colombian soldiers.

The Empire responded by accusing them of harboring international fugitive Tanya von Degurechaff, now hiding under the name Madelaine Smith. They even helpfully published a picture of the wanted woman. When that publication reached American shores, Captain Strong's epic spit-take left Elya annoyed and wearing half his coffee.

Strong managed to swiftly apprise his superiors of the true identity of Madelaine Smith, but the Americans couldn't reveal the truth without comprising an ongoing investigation. So instead, the Colombians were greatly surprised to find themselves receiving American support in the diplomatic arena, a statement from the American foreign office condemning Imperial aggression and dismissing their claims as a paper-thin excuse to interfere and propagate neo-colonial ambitions.

The Colombians simply assumed the Americans didn't want anyone else horning in on their own neo-colonial monopoly in South America.

The Empire, on the other hand, took it as a sign that whatever falling out had led to Degurechaff fleeing the US was on its way to being negotiated away, thus the American support for the woman. Fearing a renewal of Degurechaff's collaboration with the American military-industrial complex, the Empire released their evidence to the Allied Kingdom and Ildoa.

Some people in Albion were still smarting over the humiliation of having Degurechaff disappear on them. Among other things, they had been accused by almost everyone, particularly the Unified States, of having spirited her away. Seeing turnabout as fair play, the Allied Kingdom joined the Empire in pressing hard on the Unified States, demanding clarification on the Jennifer Ecks situation.

When that particular tidbit leaked to the American press, John Hughes knew opportunity was trying to break down his door. He used his influence to ensure the rumor linking Ecks and Degurechaff saw as much coverage as possible, while also arranging for _Arenne_ to be re-released to the theaters. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it sold out at the box office all over again as everyone who hadn't seen it the first time (and many who had) flocked to the theater to potentially see the Devil herself on the silver screen.

The US government, in the meanwhile, was facing hard questions from important citizens. The idealists were demanding to know why the US government would shelter and collaborate with an accused war criminal. The pragmatists were demanding to know how those in charge screwed up this collaboration so badly that the woman ended up fleeing to Colombia and signing on with communists. Faced with the embarrassment of having to admit they had no clue who Jennifer Ecks had really been, the American government chose the path of least resistance. Pointing at the fictitious Albish backgrounds of Jennifer Ecks and Sarah Witherspoon (helpfully supplied by the CEO of Velvet Iron Protection) they counter-accused Albion of using Degurechaff as an agent to infiltrate America's defense industry and steal their magical research.

During this storm of accusation and counter-accusation, a certain trade bill entered the American Senate for consideration. Following the recent US stock market collapse, a number of banks and industries had found themselves declaring bankruptcy, and the House of Representatives had passed a wide-ranging increase in tariffs in an effort to protect the flagging American industry. Normally the Senate and the President would have rejected such a proposal, but someone pointed out just how many Imperial goods were currently reaching US soil largely untaxed. The Senate passed the bill with a few amendments designed to make it as painful as possible for Imperial imports, and the President let it be known if the Empire continued with its baseless accusations then the US was ready to express its displeasure in a most tangible fashion.

When word of this threat reached the Kaiser's ears, he was utterly infuriated. Already smarting from the failure of his little covert operation, he decided the Americans needed to learn their place. Within a matter of days, a 200% import tax had been imposed on American oil and petrochemicals. Before the war, such an action would have been suicidal for the Empire. After the war, it was somewhat less disastrous. Imperial acquisition of Dacia had not only given them a small oil source within their own borders, but it had also provided them with ports on the Black Sea and a land border with the Turkmen Empire, opening up the Middle East as a source for the vital black gold.

Predictably, the American President responded by signing into law the Tariff Normalization Act. Unfortunately, such a wide-ranging bill hit not only Imperial imports, but many other nations as well. The Allied Kingdom, already fed up with American obduracy, responded in a matter of weeks with matching tariffs of its own. Nor were they the only one. The American law started a domino chain of tariffs and counter-tariffs across much of the Western World.

As the year of 1928 drew to a close, the entire civilized world was seeing exports crumble and import prices skyrocketing. With all the world's powers scrambling to rebalance their economies, one particular side-effect went largely unnoticed. With the Empire now desperate for Middle East oil, a fortune in Imperial marks poured into the Turkmen Empire. At a time when the Turkmen were struggling with an uncertain economy and internal strife, what should have been a boon acted instead as a nasty inflationary shock to an already tottering system. It was hardly the only reason for what came next, but it certainly helped to hasten the inevitable.

* * *

**December 4, 1928, Wagner Trading Post, Imperial Congo**

I had started sharing office space with Visha. She was still managing the trading post, but now that I was in one place, an enormous amount of news and paperwork had caught up with me. So now, with the tropical rain pouring down on a warm evening, I was staying indoors and trying to get a summary of the state of my far-flung investments.

The Cold Steel Trading Company was doing remarkably well, rapidly taking over large chunks of the Imperial African Company's trade networks. Instead of changing their business policies, the fools were whining to the government. I scoffed. They'd gotten so used to the government siding with them against the natives, they seemed to think they'd get the same consideration against fellow Imperials. I had, of course, made sure the top positions in Cold Steel were staffed with Imperial citizens in good standing.

Now, it should be mentioned that Lena had played a large part in Cold Steel's success. It was one thing to acquire Congolese forest products, it was another thing to transport them to the Empire. Fortunately, Lena still talked with Murdoch, who in turn had long-standing contacts in Londinium's maritime scene. Ships to transport Cold Steel's products had made themselves available in timely fashion.

Cold Steel was also making significant sums selling to the natives. I'd underestimated the massive demand the locals would have for what basically amounted to military surplus gear. Even with keeping the markup modest, sheer volume was making up the numbers. Again, Lena's help had been vital. When Velvet Iron had taken over Stillwater's operations in Colombia, they had also acquired the arms dealer's license. That license now meant the Colombian government had become the primary supplier of equipment to my patch of the Congo, with Velvet Iron and Cold Steel collecting their middleman's cuts.

Velvet Iron in particular needed the extra income. While Lena had done a fine job expanding operations in my absence, the Great Depression had slowed demand for VIP's services. Honestly, I couldn't believe I was only learning about the Depression now. The infamous stock market crash had happened while I was still in Colombia, but I'd been so busy planning my escape I hadn't even noticed.

And speaking of Colombia, I could scarcely believe the reports claiming poor Madelaine Smith was wanted for the crime of being me. I remembered the girl, of course, I'd asked her to go to Colombia to reinforce Norris. It was strange to see someone else suffer from the 'wrong time, wrong place' syndrome that had plagued so much of my life. I idly wondered if the poor girl had done something to gain Being X's attention. Well, hopefully that would get cleared up before she got killed. And at least this meant my pursuers were still looking for me in South America.

My two other companies, Household Magicks and Sunrise Botanicals, were also doing quite well. With Household, Lin had continued improving on the rituals, and now demand so badly outstripped supply that I didn't see their growth slowing down anytime soon, depression or no. As for Sunrise, the demand for medical cannabis and opiates had held rock steady. It helped that those items had been ignored by the US in that insane tariff act they had passed. CEO Vargas had used the profits from the first cannabis harvest to invest land to convert to opium cultivation. It seemed the Depression was affecting the price of coffee, so he'd been able to pick up some struggling plantations on the cheap to add to the D'Souza estate that the Colombian government had actually ended up awarding to Sunrise.

All told, things were going reasonably well in my various holdings. This was good for me, particularly since I'd actually spent all my liquid reserves setting up Cold Steel. Even though it was less than a year, I'd already grown used to the peace of mind that came with being rich and I had no desire to go back to counting my pennies.

Still, my current thoughts were on something a bit more immediate. Discreet inquiries had revealed Visha's birthday was on 7th January. Following my desire to enhance her appreciation of me as an employer, I needed to come up with something for when Visha turned twenty in a few weeks. That was when I sensed someone entering the office. The pattern of footsteps and the delicious smell of perfectly brewed coffee told me who it was. "Thank you Visha. Just put it anyw -" my voice choked off as I stared at Visha as she placed my coffee on the table.

After a long, stunning second, my brain caught up with exactly what I was seeing and I slammed my hands over my eyes. "Visha, what are you wearing?!"

"Why, that dog collar you said I had to wear. I even got it engraved the way you wanted, see?" came the innocent-sounding response.

"I noticed the collar. Well done," I said with gritted teeth. "Now can you tell me _where are the rest of your clothes?!_"

"Well, you didn't say I was to wear anything else with the collar, and I didn't want to assume. Better safe than sorry, right?" came the reply, dripping with sincerity as phony as a three-dollar bill.

"How thoughtful of you. But you can go back and get dressed now. And you know what, you can lose the collar too."

"Really, are you sure?"

"YES!"

"Oh, all right." I could actually hear the pout in her voice. As I felt her moving away, I couldn't resist peeking through my fingers. I felt my breath stop, all my attention caught by the hypnotizing sway of her hips as Visha sashayed out of the office, naked as the day she was born.

Once I got my lungs moving again, I carefully moved the coffee out of the way, before slamming my head on the table. Hard.

The pain served its purpose of getting my brain functional once more. Now I could try and figure out _what the hell just happened_.

No, on second thought, I knew exactly what this was. This was Visha getting revenge on me for all the jokes I'd made at her expense. Objectively speaking, it was an excellent maneuver, catching me completely by surprise and leaving me a flustered fool. I was lucky Visha didn't know I found her attractive or who knows what else she would have done.

The real question was, where the hell did sweet innocent Visha get the courage to act so shamelessly? Was she drunk? High? Did Shaman Abara persuade her to try one of his herbal brews? Seriously, when was the last time she had done anything even close to this brash...?

My thoughts stuttered a bit. Suddenly, several incidents over the past few years started falling into a rather disturbing pattern. First, there had been those repeated cases of drunk and disorderly conduct, starting within days of me being removed from command of the 203rd. Then, there had been how she had dropped out of the army and tracked me halfway across the world. Resourceful, but also ridiculously bold. And let's not forget just a few months back when she almost started a shooting war with the Americans when I had been out sick.

Yes, this was a clear pattern of reckless behavior, starting with my arrest. Could it be...? I knew my arrest had done a number on Imperial military discipline. After all, what was the point in following all the rules if you could be thrown behind bars anyway? From there, it was easy to see how Visha might start acting out, her actions no longer tempered by military training. So, did that mean the sweet obedient girl I knew was but the facade created by enforced discipline, and Visha's true nature was this... this _shameless hoyden?_

Well, the fact that she was still a teenager was undoubtedly contributing to the result, but my deduction made too much sense to ignore. While a small part of me was curious to see what she would do next, the sane part of me pointed out she might actually start a war next time. Heck, it was a good thing we were alone in here, or she might have started a riot! No, the path forward was clear. I had to keep her by my side at all times and keep a very close, personal eye on her. Maybe run a few drills, reinstate some of that discipline. I doubted I could repress her completely, but hopefully any future outbursts could be kept just between the two of us.


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 21**

**January 7, 1929, somewhere in Imperial Congo**

I paused to wipe the sweat from my brow and tug at my shirt, pulling it away from my sticky skin. Working out in the tropical heat was a different kind of challenge, and the only saving grace was that we were in the local dry season. That meant it rained only some of the time instead of all the time. In spite of the awful heat, it had been a good workout session. While I couldn't practice my flying skills openly without risking detection by the occasional mage patrol, I could still push myself and my former subordinates to hone our decoys, enhancements, sharpshooting, and close combat skills.

Visha came to stand next to me, puffing heavily and soaked in sweat. "Are we - huff - done yet, ma'am?"

I refrained from giving her the evil eye. In spite of her exhaustion, I could hear the faint amusement in her voice. She knew this sudden spate of training was my reaction to her little prank last month. The best solution I could come up with to keep her out of more mischief was to keep her busy with work and training. Of course, to keep the others from being curious, I had to include them in the training as well. And, being a good boss, I couldn't avoid participating myself. She was obviously finding it hilarious that I was running myself ragged just to keep her out of trouble. There are times I really miss having artillery. Still, I shouldn't be upset. Today was an important day after all. And this little training session with Visha should have given the others enough time to get things set up.

The sun was just starting to sink when the two of us made it back to the outpost, which had in the past months expanded into an almost semi-permanent camp filled with almost a hundred people. Several of them greeted us in their peculiarly accented French-Germanian patois as we went past. Credit where it was due, Visha had done a sterling job rebuilding her rapport with the locals. The formerly modest outpost had become the nerve center of trade for the area. People weren't just coming to trade with the outpost, but also each other. There were members of at least three different tribes present, all of whom were peacefully participating in the various trade deals. Occasionally one of my people had to step in and settle a dispute, but the whole affair was largely self-regulated. Truly, there are few greater unifying forces than the profit motive.

When Visha and I entered the building proper, a very nostalgic and delicious smell was filling the air. Visha perked up immediately. "Something smells really good!" she exclaimed joyfully. "Ma'am, is that...?"

"Potato pancakes, bratwurst, and apple strudel? I certainly hope so. Walther?"

At my raised voice, Walther came out of the kitchen area, wearing a stained apron. During our long wilderness trek, we'd discovered Walther was the best cook among us after Visha herself. This was not saying much, but he was good enough to follow a recipe given prepared ingredients. The pleasant-faced dark-haired man now gave a broad grin, "It's not exactly what they serve in Hotel Adlon Berun, but I think it's turned out quite well. Happy birthday, Visha!"

"Birthday? You mean... for me?" stuttered Visha, wide-eyed.

I was pleased to see her so happy. Given all we'd been through together, it was honestly ridiculous it took me this long to arrange this most basic of felicitations. "Of course, Visha. It's not every day someone leaves their teenage years behind. Happy twentieth, and welcome to the world of _responsible_ adults."

Judging by the sheepish smile I got in response, she'd gotten the hint. Then suddenly her brow clouded. "Ma'am, I just realized... I completely forgot your birthday last year!"

I huffed a laugh. "Considering I was running all over messing with your business at the time, you are forgiven. Besides, the present you got me the year before more than made up for it." On seeing her puzzled look, I elaborated, "Don't you remember? You showed up in my New York office two days after I turned fourteen." Really, considering she brought me a warning that let me get out of the Unified States ahead of Interpol, that was worth any number of birthday presents. Ignoring her customary I-have-been-complimented blush I grabbed her by the hand and dragged her forward, "Now come on, before the food gets cold! All the others are waiting."

It was, all in all, an excellent dinner. Even the bratwurst was tolerable. I sampled enough of it to be polite, before joining Visha in stuffing myself on pancakes and pie. There were even a few bottles of a decent _Riesling _wine. My small body might force me to limit myself to only one glass, but I still savored every drop.

Being X must have looked down from his lofty throne and seen me having a good time, because we were just getting around to the coffee (that Visha, bless her, insisted on making) when we detected the unmistakable magic signature of mages in flight, and approaching fast.

With only our human senses to aid us, by the time we sensed them the mages were just outside extreme artillery range. I had no idea if this was an attack or just a regular patrol that had chosen to overfly our location, but I was taking no chances. "Everyone, stealth! Visha, with me!"

During our stay, I had learned that all of Central Africa played host to four companies of Imperial mages, two each in East Africa and the Congo. There were probably a few mages in Morocco, but I didn't know the numbers there. Now that they were coming closer, I could tell there were four of them - a platoon - and they were definitely headed for the outpost. Any hopes that this was just a random flyover ended when I felt them slowing down and descending.

What possible reason could a platoon of mages have for dropping by a trading post after dark? While a supply run or even a courtesy call were possibilities, I wasn't feeling optimistic. The only bright spot was they probably didn't know who we were, or they'd have brought more than a single platoon. Avoiding the risk of a communication spell, I called out loud, "The rest of you stay quiet and get into ambush position. Visha and I will see what they want."

I felt all four of them land nearby. Two of them approached our door while two hung back. How careless. A flight mage's greatest asset is mobility. Overwatch positions should always be in midair, barring very unusual circumstances.

As a firm knock rang out on the door, I tossed a Thompson to Visha and signaled her to hang back while I approached the entrance, coffee cup in hand. As I went, I dialed down my disguise spell to the absolute bare minimum of a few lines on the face changing its shape and making it older. Thankfully I'd kept up the habit of dyeing all my hair under the illusion in case I ever needed to drop it.

Fortifying myself with a sip, I opened the door. On the other side were two mages. Imperial tags ranked them as a First Lieutenant and a Corporal. The other two were outside the light shining from the outpost. The two in front of me looked at first glance as decent specimens of Imperial soldiery. The officer had the classic blond hair and blue eyes with an athletic build and a firm jaw. His Corporal was both older and smaller, but carried an air of experience. Their equipment was common Imperial issue - Mondragon rifles and Standard Type jewels. The officer carried a pistol in a shoulder holster, and both had bayonets in hip sheaths.

Even as I sized them up, I also noticed the two mages' widening eyes when I opened the door. Did they see through my disguise? No, there was no alarm, just surprise. I realized their shock was because I was a pretty woman when the officer surreptitiously straightened his hair and gave me a broad smile. "Pardon me, my lady, but if I had known there was such a treasure hidden here I would have dropped by a lot sooner. I am First Lieutenant Bergmann, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Flirting with civilians while on duty? Clearly discipline was slipping so far from Berun. I raised an unimpressed eyebrow as I took a sip of coffee, then replied in my blandest voice, "Elsa Eckhardt. What brings a mage officer out to this little corner of the jungle?"

"Business, I'm afraid. Is the owner of the outpost available?"

"No. But I speak for her. What is it?"

"Her?" Apparently, this was a surprise too. Did these jokers do no information gathering before coming?

"Anna. My older sister. She's out. Can I take a message?"

"I'm afraid it's rather important. May we wait for her?"

"Sure."

I led them to the office where I perched on the desk. The officer took a seat at my offering, but the Corporal took a position by the door. No hands on weapons, but I did feel the prickle of a communication spell from the Corporal. Most likely letting the two outside know what was happening.

The officer was still smiling at me. I suppose with his looks he was used to charming most women he came across. "Your sister is the owner, you say? Is she as beautiful as you?"

By this point I was good and done with being hit on. I gave him a cool look as I deliberately took the time to savor my coffee. Just as the silence was growing awkward, I replied, "Taller. Better ass. Better tits. That all you wanted to know?"

My sudden crudity threw him for a moment, then he recovered and gave a polite laugh. "How bold! But then I suppose it does take uncommon courage for two women to make a business out here in the middle of this savage wilderness."

I studied his face for a moment, then I too gave a sweet smile. I smiled because I'd finally figured out why Bergmann struck me as familiar. He was like me. He could smile and lie and kill in the same breath without a shred of hesitation, as long as it got him what he wanted. Of course, I tried to temper my own nature by doing my best to follow the rules of society and act like a reasonable person. The question remained if he shared my philosophy.

"I thank you for the compliment. Honestly, it was just something that ended up happening. But I think we've done rather well, all told. Now, what was it you are here about?"

He made an expression of sorrow that I might have found believable if I hadn't managed to divine his true nature. "I'm afraid it really is a serious matter. You see, it seems your sister has decided, for reasons unknown, to completely ignore certain obligations." He made a show of looking around. "A set-up like this requires a significant amount of supplies and materiel to operate. And providing such things so far from civilization is a pretty difficult proposition. In exchange for such excellent service, it is only natural that the service provider, the Imperial African Trading Company, be provided first pick of the bounty of the African jungle. Yet, your sister refuses to even consider their offer, instead selling out to some upstart. I ask you, is this just?"

I drained my coffee cup before placing it carefully on table. "Strange. I didn't know the Empire's Army was also the Company's rent collector."

Bergmann's smile was a trifle colder now. "The Company is an intrinsic part of the Empire. It has support at the highest levels. Out here, the Company is the Empire."

"How interesting. But if the Company does represent the Empire, does that mean the Governor supports your presence here?"

"Do you think I would be here if he didn't?"

I almost laughed at that. I was a past master at exploiting logical fallacies, and here he was trying one on me! Instead, I said, "In that case, you will have no trouble coming back with an order signed by the Governor."

We stood gauging each other, then he sighed. "Fraulein, please do not be stubborn about this. It is just a contract, yes? One trading company or another, what difference does it make?"

"If you saw the prices? A lot. Tell you what though. Why don't you fly back to the Imperial Company, and tell them to start matching the prices set by Cold Steel. Then we can talk."

His smile was still charming. "Ah, it does not work like that. You do business with the Imperial African, or you do not do business at all. Tell me, have you ever seen what a magical artillery spell looks like when it hits a wood building?"

My sigh had genuine sorrow in it. "So this is what it has come to. The proud mages of the Imperial army, now nothing but hired thugs running a protection racket."

I could tell that last dig got to him, because in a lightning flash of movement, he was suddenly looming over me. If I hadn't been a mage myself, that would have caught me entirely by surprise. As it is, I took a step back and almost triggered a mage blade before realizing he wasn't attacking yet. He seemed to put my reaction down to fear, because his smile grew predatory. "We may be for hire, but I assure you, we are not cheap. And there are perks to the job," he whispered menacingly, one hand whipping out to grasp my chin.

I immediately tugged out of his grip before he felt the illusion I was maintaining on my face. His blood was up though, as he continued to invade my personal space. "What was it you said, better ass, better tits? I think we will wait for your sister after all. But you can entertain us in the meantime."

A look into his eyes told me he wasn't bluffing. Well, at least that simplified matters enormously. Even as my tactical mind went into overdrive, my hand unconsciously grasped the first thing it came across. Bergmann looked down and snorted. "What are you going to do, throw your little tea cup at me?"

"Coffee, actually," I replied. "And I'm going to kill you. With my coffee cup." His response to this would remain a mystery, for I then sent out a short burst of tongue-clicks over a communication spell.

Whether he detected the spell or not, Bergmann definitely detected the long burst of automatic fire, as Visha sent half a magazine of enhanced-penetration 45-caliber rounds through the thin dining room wall and into the forever unnamed Corporal. The Corporal's reflexive barrier stopped perhaps three shots, and his torso stopped the rest.

Bergmann had jerked his head around towards the shots. Half a second too late, he remembered the mage standing next to him. I was too close for the standard mage shell to matter. He tried to leap back to pull his pistol, but I brought up a hook-shaped mage blade spell to tear his computation orb out from under his jacket. His momentum let him open up space, but he left his jewel dangling in my hand.

Now it was my turn to move at mage speeds while a mundane tried to keep up. His pistol was already aimed at me, but by the time he pulled the trigger, my free hand was smothering the barrel. Unlike Bergmann, modifying a mage shell on the fly was well within my expertise. The skin-tight version might not be as strong as the normal spell, but it was more than adequate to stop a pistol bullet cold. The resulting backfire tore open his hand. Bergmann's scream of pain was choked off when I punched him in the nose.

Knocked off his feet, to his credit he was still fighting, scrambling for his bayonet. His struggle only ended when he felt a Thompson barrel pressing into his skull.

Even as all this was happening inside the outpost, my senses had detected the flaring magic from the two Imperial mages as they prepared for battle - and then that magic was snuffed out under close proximity and audible gunfire from five other mage signatures. I breathed a sigh of relief. The one great worry I had about this encounter was that lingering loyalty to the Empire would prevent my company from taking action. It seemed I was worried for nothing. I couldn't help the smirk stretching my face, as a cold, calculating part of my mind told me I _owned_ them now, heart and mind and soul. By slaying their fellow Imperials, they had made their allegiance clear, once and for all.

My elation was cut short as my ears picked up the panicked shouts of confusion from the nearby settlement. Breathing out an annoyed breath, I told Visha, "When Koenig comes in, send him back out to calm the locals. I'm going to get more coffee."

I had almost emptied my second cup by the time everyone except Koenig was gathered around the prisoner. Bergmann seemed to have figured some things out, if the growing terror on his face was any indication. "The 203rd. You are the missing 203rd. That makes you..." As he turned towards me, I dropped the last bits of illusion and channeled magic to my eyes, turning them the bright silvery blue that had marked me out even before the Type 95 had entered my life. "Argent Silver..."

How strange. Usually when someone spoke that name to me, it was with a tone of awe and reverence. This was the first time I'd heard it spoken in that particular tone of horrified disbelief. I wondered if this was how the Francois had spoken that name, before they came up with their own nickname for me. One more question on the long list of curiosities I would satisfy if I ever had the time.

Now that I had Bergmann's attention, I decided it was time to address the really important things. "All right, Bergmann. There's a few things I need to know, and I hope you will be honest. First, I already know the Governor didn't send you because I know Cold Steel paid good money to make sure he stays neutral in this little trade war. So, the question is, how many mages does Imperial African have in their pocket? How much of the regular army? And how many people know you came out here to shake us down?"

He talked without hesitation. "The Company has maybe half the mages in Africa bought and paid for. Maybe a third of the regular forces. And I told two of my fellow platoon leaders and my contact with the Company where I was headed."

I studied him for a long moment, then I gave a groan of frustration. "Congratulations Bergmann, in spite of everything you're a good enough liar that I can't tell if you're lying or not. And none of us have the expertise to break you properly to get at the truth."

Bergmann tried to lodge some kind of protest, but I overrode him. "At least now I can keep my promise." So saying, I held up my now empty coffee cup and squeezed. The cup shattered, the pieces falling away leaving a sharp sliver held in my fingers.

Without an orb of his own, Bergmann had no chance of dodging as I rammed the sliver into his left eye. The piece was far too small and brittle to kill a man, but the tiny explosive enchantment I'd laid on it did the trick.

Wiping the steaming gore off my hand, I remarked, "Well, this is a complete shitshow. So much for keeping a low profile. Teyanen, you and Ernst are on corpse detail. Find some wild animals to feed them to, distribute their weapons and clothes to the natives, keep whatever is left of their orbs for us. Make sure to destroy any ID. Vogel, Walther, get this place cleaned and repaired, I want it as if nothing ever happened. Visha, with me."

The two of us adjourned to the dining room, where the remains of our feast still stood. I picked up and handed Visha an envelope that was sitting on a side-table. "This was supposed to be another little birthday present, but now I don't know if it's worth anything."

"What is this?"

"A sales agreement. I had Cold Steel's accountants figure out exactly how much this outpost was now worth and offer you a fair price. In there is an offer for 50,000 marks and 8.2% of Cold Steel's stock."

"That... sounds generous?"

"At Cold Steel's current nominal share price, the total works out to around 330,000 marks. Congratulations, Visha, you've more than trebled the value of your holdings. The trouble is, depending on how much Bergmann said is true, Cold Steel is about to come under serious pressure. A year from now, that stock might be worth nothing. That's why I'm willing to sell you an option."

"An option?"

"Yes. At any time, you can sell me that stock, at the current price of the shares. That way, if the stock does devalue, I'll cover your loss..."

"No."

"Visha?"

"No. You said you set up Cold Steel, didn't you?"

"I did."

"So if Cold Steel goes under, you're out a lot of money anyway. I refuse to take advantage on top of that."

"Visha..."

"No. I'll take the contract as is. I have faith in you. You set up Cold Steel, that means it will work out in the end."

I let out a deep breath. "As you wish." The truth was, I was a bit relieved. Setting up Cold Steel had taken a lot of money. My liquid reserves were almost gone, and the company itself was highly leveraged. My sense of responsibility meant I had to make the offer, but I was secretly glad Visha had decided to be stubborn.

That little bit of business taken care of, I had to start planning our next move. While the Imperial African Trading Company's focus seemed to be on Cold Steel, the disappearance of an entire platoon of mages was bound to be noticed in short order. If no one else, at least the person who had given Bergmann his marching orders would know where he had been headed. By the time an investigation was launched, we needed to get gone.

After consulting with the rest of my company and the locals, I made the decision to change our course of travel. Prior to this, the plan had been to follow the main Congo river until it got to the rail and road networks that would lead us either to Imperial East Africa or Albish Rhodesia, whichever looked better. Now, we switched our upstream journey to one of the Congo's tributaries, the Lomami. Unlike the Congo, the Lomami was undeveloped for large parts of its length until it reached its headwaters in the Katanga plateau.

Not only would it keep us deep in the jungles and far away from investigators, but less development meant more opportunities I could inform the management of Cold Steel about (anonymously, of course). Honestly, I was more worried about illness than pursuers. Which is why I took the trouble of stocking up on as much medication and water purifiers as I could before we set out.

The plan was kept vague since so little was known about the situation on the ground, but I ultimately expected to spend around three months travelling before we eventually reached the Katanga plateau. I'd heard rumors the Empire was focusing development on that area in order to exploit its well-known mineral wealth. While a good chunk of Africa's Imperial forces would be scattered in the area, it would also be a good place to decide my next move after the heat had died down.

Now that I had a plan, however barebones, we moved fast. Within 48 hours, the outpost had been signed over to Cold Steel, and a temporary manager placed in charge. Every scrap of useful supplies we could gather on short notice had been packed and loaded on a boat. Our most reliable guides had been offered munificent sums to undertake this lengthy journey. And my final instructions were sent to Cold Steel's management, telling them to watch out for Imperial African's bully-boys and start shopping around for mage support of their own.

And then we were off. Hopefully, for a long and boring journey where the heat and mosquitoes would be the worst we would have to deal with. At least one bit of profit came out of this mess - I had a perfectly functional Imperial Standard Type 24 to play with, courtesy of the late Bergmann. Not the most advanced piece of mage hardware, but at least trying to decipher the differences between it, the Hughes M27 and the Modelo 1928 would give me something to occupy my time with.

* * *

**February 10, 1929, Imperial Congo**

Even as Tanya and her crew were doing their best to get lost in the Congolese jungle, the trade through Cold Steel continued to flow. Bergmann's disappearance sent local Imperial forces into a tizzy, and greatly unnerved his masters in Imperial African. Thanks to this atmosphere of caution and paranoia, Cold Steel was able to quietly continue its business. In particular, Colombian military surplus weapons continue to flow into the Congo in an unending tide.

Slowly, inevitably, this influx of hardware started to infiltrate those portions of the Congo River basin that was famous, or perhaps infamous, for its rubber plantations.

During the Francois era, the French had used a combination of bribed local warlords and military might to maintain a population of workers on the plantations in near-slavery conditions. Many of these workers disappeared into the populace when the French were forced out. The Empire, and the Kaiser in particular, had absolutely no interest in giving up the rubber production, not only for its monetary value but also for its military importance. The resulting forced conscription into the plantations was significantly more brutal than anything that had happened in the past century.

As such, it should come as no surprise that one fine day in February of 1929, a shot fired from 300 meters would kill a particularly hated overseer. This was just the first in a series of violent incidents that would continue to wrack the rubber plantations near the Congo River for years.

It was too disorganized to be called a revolution, or even an armed protest. It was simply the violent lashing out of a people that had been mistreated for a long time, and had finally been given tools with which to express their displeasure.

* * *

**February 18, 1929, New York, Unified States**

It was an empty warehouse in the riverside docks of Harlem. About twenty boys and girls were present. The oldest wasn't yet out of his teens, but all the attention was on a slim red-haired freckled girl who couldn't have been a day older than sixteen. Normally the girl was known for her good cheer and jovial disposition. Both were currently conspicuous in their absence.

The youngsters present didn't have the experience to verbalize the reason behind their trepidation, beyond the fact that their nominal leader was angry. A battlefield veteran would have pinpointed the aura around the redhead as that of a person who had taken a life before - and will not hesitate to do so again. Only one other of the youths present could claim that dubious distinction, and that particularly large specimen of African descent was currently covering the door.

After the silence had long since reached the level of discomfort, the girl spoke. "The reason I called you all here is because something kinda interesting happened last week. Undercover cops started nosing around old Dr. Brinkmeyer. I think they were lookin' to see if he was part o' that terrible racket o' fake prescriptions for weed that we all been hearing about."

There were some nervous chuckles at this, especially since a good chunk of those present would be carrying exactly such prescriptions. Not for their own use, but for sale to others. One girl spoke up, "But Brinkmeyer's not the one handing them out is he Jenny? You told me - " The girl choked off at the furious glare the redhead named Jenny was giving her.

"Yes," came the hiss like an enraged snake. "I told you different. And I told you to keep quiet about it. In fact, I told exactly _one_ of you the name Brinkmeyer, and that person was supposed to keep mum about it too. Ain't that right, Stevie?"

The named boy instantly broke into a mad dash for the door, only to run into an iron hard fist courtesy the door guard.

"Well. I suppose that answers the question o' if you were the one to dime us out to the cops. Hope whatever they gave you was worth it Stevie."

Three hours later, Jenny was walking through the door of one of the better apartments in New York.

"Jenny! Finally home?" came the voice of a stocky swarthy young woman in her twenties.

The teenager rolled her eyes. "It ain't that late, Lydia." Over the last year, Jenny had gotten into the habit of calling her guardian by her assumed name. Lena had insisted it was a good habit to get into since the two were often out together in public.

"Late enough. I..." Lena broke off as she came close to the girl. "Jenny Brown, what in the blue blazes have you been up to now?"

"I... don't know what you mean?"

Lena grabbed the girl's hands. "Blood on your knuckles and it's not your own. And," a deep sniff, "Is that weed? You been smoking and fighting?"

"Naw, just been around folks who were."

"Don't give me that. You promised you were gonna get out of the business, Jenny!"

"No, I promised to be more careful."

"Jenny, why do you have to do this? Money? You need money you come to me!"

"Shit, you think I'm doin' this for cash? I'm doin' this for Tanya!"

"I keep telling you, Tanya's not involved in that!"

"Bullshit! I know you told me she made Sunrise. That's who we get all our weed from!"

"_**We**_ only deal in stuff that's for sale through _legal_ channels! Not whatever racket you've got going! Jenny, if the cops catch you they ain't gonna care you're only fifteen! Deep as I think you are, it'll be ten years, minimum!"

"Legal's not enough anymore! You told me the state's been doing its best to tighten on the stuff! With everyone losin' jobs left and right, the business need all the help it can get! Besides, I figured you'd care more about damn flying assassins being sent after Tanya! You know she gonna need cash on the run! I'm just doin' my part for her! You'd help if you actually cared!"

"Do not give me that bullshit! You know Tanya wouldn't have wanted this! She didn't get you into one of the best schools in the city just to see you become some two-bit dealer!"

"Well I don't know what she wants now, do I! 'COS SHE LEFT US!"

Lena took a deep breath, then went to sit down on a nearby couch. After some effort, she'd managed to coax Jenny into joining her. "Jenny, darling, I know you worry about her. I do too. But you know she left because she wanted to protect us. You really think risking your neck doing whatever it is you're doing is going to make her happy?"

"I just..." the girl sniffled, "I just wanna help...and you won't tell me a thing! All you say is she's fine! I had to read the damn papers to hear the damn Imps been sending mages after her!"

Lena drew the girl into a gentle hug before she got worked up any more. "I know, I know, she means a lot to you. But you mean a lot to me, you know? And you mean a lot to her, too. Or why else would she set up a college fund for you? You know she wants for you to have all the things she never did growing up. She doesn't want you to do the kinds of things she's had to do to survive."

"I know... but I don't care! We're sisters! We swore to have each other's backs, always! How can I do that sitting over here?!"

Lena sighed. "All right, all right. How about I make you a deal?" Seeing Jenny's teary but puzzled expression, Lena continued, "If you absolutely promise to get out of the business, and keep your nose clean until summer vacation starts... then I'll give you a summer job. With Velvet Iron."

Jenny was definitely curious now. "A summer job? Doing what?"

"Oh, it might involve a bit of travelling to exotic locations."

"Exotic... you mean like where Tanya is?"

"I can't promise that Jenny. Even I don't know exactly where she is. But I can send you to places where Velvet Iron has business, and maybe you'll get lucky. Deal?"

The excited hug Jenny wrapped Lena in was answer enough.

* * *

**March 20, 1929, on a ship in the South Atlantic, en route to Point Noir, Imperial Congo**

The two former Imperial mages looked out over the clear blue waters. Royce broke the silence. "We sure about this?" he asked in Germanian.

Klaus von Becker shrugged fatalistically. "What's there to be sure about?" he replied. "Neither of us heard of this Cold Steel before. Not a single whisper about the Major. But they are hiring mages, and the offer came recommended by Velvet Iron. It is the only clue we have."

Royce rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant Klaus. Are we sure we should have let little Madelaine come along with us?"

Both men glanced at the cabin in which their travelling companion was currently recovering from a bout of seasickness.

"What could we do?" shrugged Klaus. "When she found out about Cold Steel she absolutely insisted on joining us. Even if we didn't bring her along, she could just go do it on her own. This way we can at least watch over her."

"Yes, but is it not strange a good American girl would be so eager to run all the way to Africa?"

"Norris was certainly willing. He even arranged transfer of that American mage named Barrow so he has someone to replace her with."

"Norris is worried for both her and his job," Royce remarked. "He thinks it is better she leave under our protection than she stay and draw the wrong kinds of attention. He does not seem to believe the Colombians when they tell us the Empire no longer seems to think Madelaine is the Major."

"Maybe the Emperor finally grew a brain. But in his or Maddy's shoes I would be skeptical as well. Perhaps that is why she wants to come with us?"

"That makes no sense. Congo is Imperial territory. Norris might not care, but if she was worried about the Empire, that is the last place she should be going."

Klaus rubbed his face in worry. "I know, my friend. She says she wants to meet face to face the woman who almost got her killed. And she certainly seems to be honest about that. But even I cannot help but wonder. Still, if there is something more to it, then it is for the best she is somewhere that we can keep an eye on her."

* * *

**March 27, 1929, Washington D.C.**

When Lieutenant Elya Roth had first joined Imperial Intelligence she'd had all sorts of silly dreams about visiting exotic places and sneaking into fortresses to spy on the enemies of the Fatherland. After joining she'd learned espionage work mostly consisted of enormous amounts of mind-numbing paperwork. While she still enjoyed the puzzle-solving aspects of it, she'd long since accepted her younger self's beliefs as childish foolishness.

And yet, here she was in the capital of a foreign country about to break into a secure location to acquire valuable intelligence.

All right, so Captain Strong's office was hardly Fort Knox, and entering the building had been as simple as showing her own Interpol badge. That still didn't stop the rush of adrenaline flowing through her brains.

Ordinarily, Elya was far too professional to indulge in such reckless behavior, particularly without orders from above. But for the last several months she'd been bouncing between Berun and Washington as a glorified messenger, and it had been both boring and unpleasant. In Berun she would get chewed out for the lack of progress in locating Degurechaff, and more recently for the Colombian debacle. In Washington her position as an Imperial officer might as well be a case of leprosy for the way officialdom treated her. And the newly formed Interpol HQ was also asking her hard questions about their little team's current efforts - questions Captain Strong refused to answer in full and instead left Elya to deal with as best she could. About the only useful thing she'd achieved was persuading the Imperial government that Madelaine Smith was NOT Tanya von Degurechaff, superficial similarities notwithstanding. And even then she didn't know how well her information had been accepted.

All in all, Elya was sick and tired of being everyone's designated whipping girl. It was high time she got some satisfaction of her own. Strong had admitted Sioux was in Colombia trying to track down Degurechaff, but quoted need to know as his reason for refusing to provide further details. In recent days though, Elya had noticed the Captain was a lot more worried than usual.

Now, this might be because of something else entirely. God knows there was enough going wrong with the world, and with Interpol slowly starting to take responsibility for a number of other international criminal cases both she and Strong had other problems on their plates. But Elya's instincts told her that whatever had unsettled the Captain had something to do with Sioux.

Breaking into the Captain's office without being spotted or setting off his security was quite the challenge. Elya thought it ironic that it was her friend Visha's tutelage in stealthy magecraft using civilian orbs that allowed her to pull off this infiltration so smoothly. Once in the office, it was a simple matter to get into the Captain's office safe - the Captain had a bad habit of leaving the safe open while working in his office, and it was a model where even a brief fiddling would give you the combination as long as it was already open. Elya had done it out of simple curiosity months ago during one of her visits to the office. Since the Captain also neglected to regularly change his combination, it only took moments for Elya to open it up and start rifling through his sensitive correspondence.

Most of it were things she already knew, although there were a few interesting-looking notes from US Naval Intelligence. Ignoring them for now, she finally found what she was looking for. It only took her a minute to find the latest message from Sioux.

_The Congo_. Elya could hardly believe it. The thought that the Argent would hide out in the personal fiefdom of the very ruler who wanted her dead was bold beyond belief. But then if Degurechaff lacked nerve she would hardly have achieved everything she had. That damn movie of hers was still playing in some theaters. There was a possibility Sioux was chasing down a red herring, but at least it gave Elya something to go on.

Besides, hadn't she heard rumors of some military mages going missing down there? If they had stumbled across Degurechaff and Visha and the others, that might explain the mystery. Quickly removing the traces of her presence, Elya carefully made her way out. She now had a lead on Degurechaff, slim as it was. The only question now, what exactly did she do with it?


	22. Chapter 22

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 22**

**April 2, 1929, somewhere in the jungles of Imperial Congo**

"I don't know what you all are grumbling about. This is proper jungle survival training, not that half-hearted thing we've been doing so far." I admonished my disgruntled troops.

"April Fool's was yesterday, Tanya," came the rejoinder from Ernest.

I couldn't help but be a bit pleased at that. In a close-knit company like ours, a bit of informality was to be expected, and I was glad to see some of my subordinates taking me up on my invitation to call me by my first name. Of course, I was even more pleased to note that the minute the discussion turned serious, they would revert to more formal modes of address. Informality might promote bonds of camaraderie, but respect reinforced discipline.

I considered this the culmination of an effort that had started back in Colombia, to bring the relationship between myself and my fellow mages to new, more closely knit equilibrium. After all, I had gone from commanding 48 mages backed by Imperial Law, to a bare six standing by me out of nothing but ephemeral loyalty. The aloof distance I had maintained back in the days of the 203rd had to be closed, no matter how uncomfortable it made me. At least when it got too much I could let Visha and her natural gregariousness take over.

In reply to Ernest's observation, I said, "I know. That's why I told you yesterday we'll soon be out of the jungle."

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Are you sure we can't just fly our way out?"

"Well, sure, if you want to be a wimp and give up."

"I'd rather be a wimp than dead of malaria."

This last observation was harder to joke about. Ever since we set foot in the Congo, all of us had been religious about using insect repellent and mosquito nets, but in spite of our precautions Ernest, Koenig and Teyanen had all come down with symptoms over the last few months. While Ernest and Koenig made full recoveries, poor Teyanen was even now struggling through a relapse, and even though he insisted on walking I'd had to slow the pace to not put too much pressure on his system.

"Flying has the problems we've already discussed," I sighed. "The mage patrols have definitely picked up. We could probably do it if we had to, but the situation will have to be a lot more dire before I'm willing to risk it. Visha, what do the maps say?"

Visha was currently in charge of navigation. She replied confidently, "We've managed to maintain a south-westerly course ever since we left the Lomami behind. We can't be too far from the Kasai tributaries."

When we'd originally started our journey, we'd followed the Lomami upstream. We'd set a leisurely pace, taking the time to stop by various outposts and villages on the way. Sometimes it was to meet the locals, sometimes to touch base with fellow Europeans. It let me collect any gossip going around about the latest moves by the Imperial African Trading Company. So far though, the biggest news was about the missing aerial mage patrol led by the late unlamented Lieutenant Bergmann. Unsurprisingly, Imperial authorities had been thrown into a tizzy by the vanishing of four aerial mages. From what little I heard, the Governor's office either thought they had deserted, or they had been ambushed by natives. Apparently there was some amount of unrest happening further downstream among the rubber plantations to lend weight to this supposition. Either way, it had resulted in an uptick in aerial patrols, which meant we had to be cautious with our spells.

Thankfully, no one in authority seems to have fingered us as the suspects yet. That didn't mean I could relax, though. Not hearing about any suspicion aimed at us could simply be because we were ahead of the news. After all, someone had to have pointed Bergmann at our outpost, and that someone, if they were smart, would eventually find some discreet way to point the authorities at us.

The journey wasn't all relaxation and gossip. We sometimes stopped to lend a hand to locals who were having some kind of trouble we could fix. One memorable occasion involved a man-eating lion. We also stopped to collect information on what kind of goods were available for trade and what was in demand among the locals, before sending the information downstream to Cold Steel Trading. Just because I was going incognito didn't mean I couldn't do my bit to help my company along.

Eventually though, we ran into a series of rapids that rendered the river unnavigable, so we left behind the boat and our guides, and took to our feet.

Quick hops using our orbs made climbing past the rapids easy. We could have simply continued following the Lomami, but I'd been feeling paranoid. Anyone following us wouldn't have found too much difficulty in figuring out which river we'd taken. Once we cleared the rapids, I made the decision to cut south-west and get into the Kasai river system instead, specifically aiming for the Sankuru. This was a distance of around 300 kilometers. Less than an hour by orb, or almost a month hacking through the wilderness on foot.

I paused to take a sip of water and consider our situation. Even with our magic-enhanced senses making foraging easier, and the regular rain replenishing our water, we were still starting to run low on supplies. And I could understand their growing frustration. It seemed absurd to expend so much time and effort when civilization could be literally bare minutes away. It was a testament to their discipline that I was only now hearing grumbles. And then there was Teyanen's faint shivers that he was doing his best to hide.

I made my decision. "One week. If we haven't hit civilization by then, we take our chances in the air."

As it happened, our arrival at the Sankuru River would be unavoidably delayed. Two days later, the forest opened up to reveal a modest settlement of a few hundred people. As we approached, it became clear this was not a native village the likes of which we'd come across before on our travels. This was a mining settlement. Dozens of natives digging away at an open hole in the ground, before dragging their loads of gravel to a nearby stream to wash and pan through them, looking for those shiny bits of rock that are supposed to be a girl's best friend.

When I first saw it, I didn't really know what I was looking at. The big mining locations were all further south in the Katanga region proper, where first the Francois and then the Empire had been steadily developing the transport infrastructure as a prelude to exploiting the area. Still, it didn't take a genius to figure out there had to be something pretty fascinating hidden among the dirt and rocks these people were pulling out, judging by how carefully they were sifting through every bit of it.

Naturally, our arrival did not go unremarked. As we wended our way out of the trees an aerial observer could have marked our progress by how movement in the camp would come to a halt until we had passed by. Not that the locals didn't have reason to stare. Not only were we a group of well-armed white people in the middle of nowhere, not only did our skin and clothes bear the mark of weeks spent camping in a tropical jungle, but our number contained three reasonably attractive young women. While white women were present in the Congo, they were very much in the minority, and you certainly didn't see them this far off the beaten track outside of a few extremely adventurous specimens. Judging by the puzzled stares we were getting, the locals hadn't run across such exceptions prior to us. Well, at least our presence would be educational.

Since none of the laborers seemed inclined to question our presence, I ignored them and headed to where I could see a pair of flags hanging limply from a pole. One was recognizable as the Empire's flag, and the other was harder to make out but looked like some sort of company emblem. Thankfully not the emblem of the Imperial African Trading Company, so they should be reasonably welcoming of us.

Along the way I noticed we were not the only armed people in the settlement. There seemed to be a number of armed Africans among the miners. Obviously security hired by the company in charge of the mine, they were armed with a mix of old firearms and steel weapons. I wasn't worried about them - judging by the way they kept their distance, they'd long since learned not to meddle in the affairs of their colonial masters. I did however notice that they seemed much better clothed and fed than the miners. I also noticed some rushing off towards the outpost, undoubtedly to warn whoever was in charge here.

Eventually we got past the mining settlement, which was comprised mostly of shacks so poorly made they gave shacks a bad name, and to the outpost proper, which was a reasonably sturdy two-story construction overseeing a dirt track that was most likely this settlement's link to the wider world. The greeting from the building's residents wasn't too friendly, though. The door was clearly shut, and the moment we got within sight a pair of rifles poked out from upstairs windows. "Halt! You are trespassing on private property! Do not come closer!" a loud voice barked out in Germanian.

"Come now, is that any way to greet a lady? We are but travelers looking for a place to rest. Would you turn your back on your fellow Imperial?" I replied in my sweetest voice.

There was a moment of silence before the face of a man of around thirty poked out of the window to look us over. The face went back inside and the door was carefully opened. The same man stepped out, a large heavyset fellow in his late thirties with brown eyes and sandy blond hair with a touch of grey and a faint scar across his forehead. Even though he was smiling, there was a hardness to his features and a slyness in his gaze put me in mind of a particularly vicious weasel. Behind him I caught a glimpse of several more people inside the building, but judging by the cleanliness and quality of his clothing, I was looking at the man in charge.

His rifle, a high-end hunting piece, was currently pointed away from us. He gave me a look that tried to be charming but came across as smarmy and said, "Well now, we don't see pretty sights like you around here very often. I'd love to give you the hospitality of my humble abode, but first I'm going to have to ask you to hand in your guns. This is property of the Bakwanga Mining Corporation and we're somewhat leery of armed strangers."

"I am afraid that is asking a bit much seeing as how you are armed strangers to us. But let us compromise. We will keep our weapons but we will put them away. And then we can get to know each other a bit better, and then we will no longer be strangers. What do you say?" To further demonstrate my good intentions I slipped my rifle back on my shoulders, signaling my companions to do the same. My company grudgingly complied, rifles being safed and left to hang from their straps.

After a bit more back and forth, Ferdinand Gerrin, for such was his name, agreed to offer us his hospitality. I immediately asked for a bed and ordered Teyanen to lay down and rest after taking another dose of our dwindling stock of quinine. Only after that medical emergency had been seen to did I allow myself to be dragged into coffee and conversation with our host and his minions.

I use the word 'minions' advisedly. There were three other white men at the table with us, but it was clear all of them completely deferred to the forceful Mr. Gerrin. As for our host, he was naturally extremely curious as to our presence. I spun him the story my group had decided on beforehand - both my sister and I were determined to do a proper cross-country African safari. To this end, we'd started out from the port of Mzizima in Imperial East Africa, traveled across the country before sailing across Lake Tanganyika, and were now aiming for the Sankuru with a view to traveling all the way to Point Noir on the Western coast.

When he, correctly, pointed out there was a rail and road system crossing the Katanga plateau that would allow us to accomplish the same journey with far greater ease, I chided him that it would hardly be a safari if we stuck to trains and cars for the whole trip.

"You have a great deal of courage to try and cross hundreds of kilometers of uncharted jungle on foot."

I hid my smirk. It was clear he was struggling not to call us reckless idiots. Instead I stuck my nose in the air and said, "What is adventure without a little risk? Ah, but it's a shame the war ended so soon, otherwise I would not have had to travel so far to find a bit of excitement."

I think I did a fair job convincing him that I and 'Anna' were thrill seekers with more money than sense, because he soon stopped trying to interrogate us. Now that his suspicions were allayed, I sat back and let Visha go to work.

I have to admit, my adjutant is almost annoyingly effective at putting people at ease and getting them to open up. Not that she had to try too hard. Even in disguise, she was easily the best looking woman here, and neither Ernest nor I could be called plain. I actually had to remind myself repeatedly that it was a good thing Gerrin and his minions all had their tongues hanging out, since we needed their cooperation at least until Teyanen recovered. Just because I found Visha attractive was no excuse to act like a yandere, particularly since there was nothing between us.

Between her good looks and naturally convivial nature, it wasn't long until Visha had gotten Gerrin to start talking all about himself. It soon became obvious the man had a very high opinion of his own abilities. Apparently he had come to Congo almost immediately after the Germanian takeover. To hear him tell it, he had singlehandedly convinced the 'conservative fossils' of the Bakwanga Mining Corporation (the successor to Francois' Bakwanga Miner's Society) to spread out from the established diamond mines in Banningstadt (about 200km south of our current location) and look for further opportunities. It was thanks to Gerrin's involvement that the corporation had even found the little deposit of shiny stones we were sitting on. According to Gerrin, while the mines at Banningstadt might be far more extensive, the density of the diamond deposits was much higher in this little patch of dirt. High enough, in fact, that even a bunch of 'ignorant primitives' with picks and shovels could dig up enough carats to turn a handsome profit. Profit which, so Gerrin bragged, poured almost entirely into his own pocket. In an effort to impress us with his business acumen, he explained how, after the Corporation had borne all the expense of surveying the deposit and purchasing the land from the government, he had swooped in and persuaded the Corporation to give him a long-term lease for a pittance. As long as he kept up his modest lease payments, everything this mine earned was his.

Now, while the Imperial corporations in Africa hadn't particularly impressed me with their business acumen, it still seemed strange they'd let an obviously productive mine go for such a small lease. So I started poking to find out what exactly Gerrin had known that the Corporation hadn't. The answer was depressing in its predictability.

Mining, especially in a primitive country, was an intensely laborious process. Even when you paid them peanuts, labor was still the biggest expense in your accounts. The Francois had built Banningstadt as a company town, and when the Imperials took over they kept things more or less the same, including the pay scales which, while terrible, still meant the workers could expect a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, and rudimentary health care. The Bakwanga Mining Corporation, assuming the need to pay their workers at least a minimal wage, plus the expense of maintaining a decent settlement so far from civilization, had declared the expense not worth the trouble.

Gerrin had proven them wrong with the simple expedient of not paying his laborers anything. He had also gotten around the cost of establishing a settlement by putting a gun to the collective head of the nearest village and forcing them to relocate, man, woman, and child. The only people who were paid anything approaching a salary were Gerrin's overseers - half a dozen hard-boiled French and Prussians who acted as senior managers, and around three times as many tribal thugs. The villagers were forbidden any tools and weapons - even the picks and shovels were kept under lock and key at night - and they relied entirely on Gerrin and the food he supplied them to keep from starving.

As a final insult on top of injury, the food Gerrin gave them was surplus military rations. Faced with the prospect of eating _kommisbrot _for the rest of my life, if I were in the laborers' shoes I might well have taken my chances with the African jungle. When I made that remark out loud, Gerrin had laughed at my 'joke', before saying that was why he had his men maintain strict patrols. After making an example of the first few runaways, desertion had dropped to tolerable levels.

Visha was trying hard to hide it, but I could tell she was aghast at what she was hearing. Even though all this was nothing more than a more extreme version of the situation in parts of Colombia, it seemed she had a hard time accepting it as a natural consequence of the power disparity prevalent between employer and employee in this day and age. The rest of my troops didn't look too happy either - I had to remember that they were all there for the United Fruit debacle, and their sympathies probably lay with the workers. Worried that they might kick off some sort of impromptu worker's revolt, I quickly distracted Gerrin from his accomplishments and started discussing arrangements for our stay while we awaited Teyanen's recovery.

It was later that evening that our company (minus Teyanen) took a little walk around the area - mostly to avoid eavesdroppers while I talked them down from doing something foolish. As I had expected, Visha was all but ready to declare bloody revolution on the capitalist oppressor. Well, perhaps I jest. Visha rightly had a deep antipathy for communism, seeing as how they had forced her family to flee to the Empire. What she wanted was to force Gerrin to actually treat his workers like human beings and not slaves. Koenig only encouraged her by pointing out slavery was definitely illegal in Empire territory, and we ought to do something about it.

"Why do we have to?" I broke in. "This is not our land, not our people. It is none of our business."

Visha's puppy-dog eyes were as potent as ever, but this time I was expecting it and I held firm. "All of you need to understand something. This is the jungle. The only law that matters here is strength," I expounded. "Reporting Gerrin to the authorities will improve nothing. As Bergmann proved, the big corporations have the local forces in their pockets. As long as Gerrin keeps the diamonds flowing, Bakwanga Mining will not permit any interference. And need I remind you, I am a fugitive from the Emperor - the man who literally owns this country. I cannot afford to draw more attention than I already have. It is all well and good to have ideals, but we cannot ignore practical considerations."

As silence greeted my words, I decided to add one last little consideration to tip things in my favor. "To top it all off, Teyanen is very ill. He is in no condition to travel, let alone fight."

There was some grumbling, but at the mention of their infirm comrade I could see practicality starting to override morality. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Yes, I did find it deeply offensive how Gerrin was wasting his human capital. But that did not mean I had any interest in risking my own neck tilting at windmills! Back in Colombia I'd had extremely material reasons to maintain good relations with the common workers. Here, the only benefit I could see would be if I replaced Gerrin as the leaseholder of this mine - but even with modern management techniques I was uncertain if this mine would still remain profitable if I actually paid the workers what they were worth. Assuming the workers didn't flee en masse the moment I allowed them to.

Besides, actually replacing Gerrin was most likely impossible without indulging in outright criminal behavior. Reading between the lines, Gerrin wasn't just in it for the money. There is a certain type of personality that revels in the wielding of power over their fellow humans. I myself have felt the temptation multiple times, and if I were honest, may have occasionally indulged in the vice. One only had to look at the way Gerrin comported himself like some kind of feudal lord to know where his real enjoyment lay. As such, it would likely require a truly ridiculous sum to get him to part with his toys, assuming he could be persuaded to sell at all.

Still, this did give me a way to keep my own companions from acting hastily. "I'll tell you what, if you all really want to see this atrocity end, I'll talk to Gerrin and see if he's interested in selling out. If it's something I can afford, I'll buy the lease and we'll go from there." To be clear, I had absolutely no intention of wasting good money on this mess. But as long as I could pretend I was doing something, I could keep my troops quiet while Teyanen recovered.

In the end, I did carefully sound Gerrin out, if only so I could honestly say I tried. As I had expected, his asking price was well beyond my current bank balance as stated on my pass book. Of course, that pass book was over four months out of date, but I didn't mention that. Instead I pretended to be in negotiations while counting the days to when Teyanen could be back on his feet and I could extricate myself from this situation. Alas, as my luck seemed to run in this world, eight days after our arrival matters came to a head.

During that time, Visha had managed to persuade us all to start acting as medics for the miners. She used her own money to purchase medical supplies from Gerrin, then set about trying to heal the sick and wounded among the villagers. I didn't have the heart to point out how futile her actions were, so I and the others all ended up helping her out. After so many months in the jungle, all of us were passingly familiar with field medicine. Together, we set up a clinic, and started providing the workers some much-needed medical care. As for Gerrin, he immediately realized our actions were a silent criticism of his methods. I could tell he was torn between throwing us out for our impertinence, and accepting that a healthier workforce could only be to his benefit. Either way, his attitude towards us cooled noticeably. Now when he gazed at Visha, it was with more anger than lust.

It was in this volatile situation that my troops found evidence of something I had already suspected - Gerrin and his overseers, particularly the local muscle, were systematically raping the villagers' women.

The girl in question was an adolescent, my age or younger and attractive in spite of her harsh environment. One of the guards, as was their habit, had spotted her and decided he wanted her for the night. By this time the villagers knew better than to resist, but for some reason the girl had refused to accept her fate. Perhaps because she was a virgin, perhaps because our presence in the village had emboldened her, but instead of going along meekly, she'd tried to run. All it earned her was a beating, and then the guard called in two of his friends so they could work together to teach her a lesson. They didn't even bother going over to their own camp, the guards simply dragged her into the nearest shack, evicted the residents, and then got to their fun.

I had no idea if they would have killed her or let her go after they were done, but it all became moot when one of the witnesses ran to our little clinic and poured out the news. I wasn't there at the time, having been out hunting for the pot, but even from three kilometers away I had sensed the rage-fueled flare of Visha's magic.

It only took me a minute to rush back, and by then things were already spiraling out of control. No one was dead, yet. Visha and Vogel had stormed into the hut, doled out beatings to the guards, and were now fussing over the girl who seemed to be in shock. Of the three perpetrators, two were still conscious but the third was laid out with what clearly looked like a broken jaw. Their cries for help had drawn in a half a dozen others who were waving their weapons about uncertainly. They were angry, but they also knew we were their boss' guests, and were thus unsure on how to proceed.

I managed to step in and calm things down long enough for Gerrin to show up. Visha bundled off the girl to her parents, and then demanded the three guards be immediately imprisoned for their actions. Gerrin countered by declaring he was going to hold court to get to the bottom of the incident. He demanded all of us show up, even Teyanen was rousted from his sickbed, and then he further demanded we put aside our weapons until the whole matter was settled.

I ordered everyone to go along with it. After all, as long as we had our orbs, being unarmed was little more than an inconvenience against this group of thugs. Even Teyanen could turtle up under a defensive shell and wait things out. It was my hope Gerrin would do the smart thing and do his best to defuse the situation. I was doomed to be disappointed.

As the story unfolded, Gerrin latched on to the fact that the girl had badly scratched one of the guard's faces during her struggle. These scratches became "assaulting a superior". The guards' actions towards the girl was dismissed as a case of "excessive zeal in administering discipline". Apparently, instead of raping her, the guards should have had her publicly flogged. At that point a cry of anger went up from Vogel. Looking around, I spotted yet another guard hauling a rope. At the end of the rope, tied around her wrists, was the girl he and Visha had rescued. The guard hauled her into the clearing acting as 'court' and pushed her down on the ground.

Gerrin sneered at all of us from the fancy chair he was sitting on. "Now that the instigator of this disturbance is in front of, Mr. Pierce, you may administer the proper punishment." Pierce was one of the white managers in Gerrin's employ, and he now stepped forward while uncoiling a nasty looking whip.

"You can't do this," spoke Visha. Her voice was soft, but it still sent chills up my spine. It occurred to me that I had never before seen Visha truly, utterly enraged.

**"Don't you dare tell me what I can't do!"** roared Gerrin. **"You attacked my men! How dare you come in here and..."**

I tuned out his rant. The moment the young girl had been dragged in, I knew the situation was beyond salvaging. My subordinates were beyond furious. As every officer learns, never give an order you know won't be obeyed. Trying to hold them back was futile, so instead I started organizing them using subvocal messages. By the time Gerrin had started his diatribe, I was ready. I briefly considered letting him finish, before deciding that his fury made a perfect cover for a first strike.

I spun up my M27 and delivered a burst of thrust that had me zipping next to my chosen target. The man was another of Gerrin's white overseers. Unlike his tribal toughs who were armed with a motley of blades and ill-maintained firearms, this fellow had apparently looted one of our own Winchesters. I chopped him in the throat with a blade-enhanced hand, then pulled the gun out of his slack fingers and sent a piercing spell bullet through the torsos of three clustered goons. At which point the rest of my crew broke into action and there was a whole lot of gunfire and screaming. A lot of screaming actually, at a surprisingly high pitch - ah, Emilie had opened proceedings by kicking one guard and stabbing two others right in the groin. The others were a bit less brutal, but no less effective. Even Teyanen had managed to wrestle a gun away from one of the guards and was now blazing away.

As might be expected, it was a slaughter. After a minute, the few survivors broke and tried to flee. I immediately gave the order to hunt down not just them, but any other guards that might still be alive in the settlement. "Take no prisoners. Kill every last one." Normally an order like this would raise at least a few eyebrows from my men, but this time it was obeyed with enthusiasm. That was good. Whatever the provocation, our actions still amounted to murder. The fewer witnesses the better.

Movement caught my eye. It seemed Visha had not joined the others in hunting the survivors. Instead she was stalking across the ground to the man himself. Gerrin had caught a bullet in the gut and was lying on the ground gasping and bleeding out. Experience told me the wound would see him dead inside of twenty minutes. Visha was not inclined to wait that long. She picked him up off the ground by the neck, and wrapping both hands around his throat she started to squeeze.

Technically speaking, trying to strangle someone from the front is a terrible idea. It took a long time, a grip like that was easy to break, and if your opponent knew what he was doing, he could even dislocate your elbows. Unfortunately for him, Gerrin clearly didn't have the right training, and reinforcement spells gave Visha a strength advantage. The kind-hearted lieutenant I thought I knew stood there and looked into the man's eyes as she slowly squeezed the life out of him.

I should have said something. Visha was wasting time when there was work to be done. But all I could do was stare at the serene expression on Visha's face as she clinically observed the way her victim's eyes bulged, his face purpled, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. As the man's feeble struggles faded, I became aware of my elevated heartbeat and a strange heat in my core. After several long minutes, Visha let the corpse fall, her face set in a small smile of satisfaction. Licking my unaccountably dry lips, I asked, "Feeling better, Visha?"

Visha gave a little jump before turning to face me, her face covered in an adorable blush. "Ah, sorry about that ma'am. It's just, he made me _so_ angry..."

"Perfectly understandable. Still, enough fun and games. We have a right mess to clean up. We also need to keep an eye out in case anyone detected all the magic we used."

The one bit of good luck in the whole disaster was that no one seemed to have detected that little battle. Hours went by and no mages dropped by to investigate who was flinging around combat spells. In that time, my troops accounted for every one of Gerrin's employees. I'd feel bad killing so many people who couldn't fight back, but since they were all complicit in murder, rape, and slavery, it felt more like karma than anything else.

At first, I thought that would be the end of it. We would distribute any wealth and weapons we found to the miners, they could go back to their original village, and we would continue on our journey. Teyanen had recovered enough to last the trip, and by the time anyone came looking the former overseer and his men's corpses would have been claimed by the jungle.

Naturally, things were not that simple. It seemed when Gerrin had kidnapped the villagers, he had destroyed their village and put their farms to the torch. They had nowhere to go, and nowhere near enough food - the outpost only had a couple of weeks' worth of supplies, and the area didn't have enough game to support hundreds of people. Having spent almost two years doing nothing but digging in the dirt, most of their other skills had atrophied.

Given a choice I would have left the villagers to fend for themselves - they had weapons, they had tools, they had their freedom; it was a far better deal than anything they had enjoyed previously. But since we had saved them, we were now apparently responsible for them, or so my men seemed to think. Grumbling to myself, I started digging through the former overseer's residence, looking for a solution.

In the end, after studying all the paperwork at hand, the solution I came up with could best be categorized as claim-jumping. The rights to the mine had been purchased from Bakwanga Mining Corporation on a twenty-year-lease. As long as the diamonds kept flowing, it was very unlikely they would send anyone to investigate. The diamonds sourced from the soil were sent to the river about forty kilometers away, and then taken by boat to the nearest settlement where an office of the Corporation would be located. The Corporation would purchase the raw diamonds at a pre-determined rate as set by the lease agreement, and that would be that. After studying the records, it became clear as long as I could find a trustworthy white agent to act as the 'face', the mine could keep operating under the villagers with no one the wiser.

Luckily, I knew just the way to make that happen. Cold Steel Trading was always looking for new customers, and the villagers were their ideal demographic. They needed everything - food, cloth, tools, medicine, teachers, weapons - and they could pay in cold hard cash, as the lease agreement specified that the diamonds would have to be purchased using Imperial gold marks, or the equivalent in some other gold-backed currency like Pounds Sterling. In exchange of making all their future purchases from Cold Steel, I'm sure my company would be more than happy to provide an agent to transport and sell the diamonds. The villagers would do much better under Cold Steel than anyone else too, since I had made sure my company kept the price gouging to a minimum.

And when, inevitably, it came out the diamond mine was being operated by rogue elements rather than the lessee? It would be the villagers who would have to deal with the fallout. As far as Cold Steel knew, they had acted in good faith to supply the needs of an honest mining community. Claim-jumping? What claim-jumping? And the suspicion for the deaths of Gerrin and the others would also fall on the villagers first. In fact, having the villagers there, operating an illegal mine, really would be a useful distraction. Sure, if anyone ever questioned them closely they could undoubtedly identify us, but by then I fully expected to have left the country. Since Elsa and Anna Eckhardt only ever appeared on the paperwork as former trading partners for Cold Steel at a place hundreds of kilometers away, I doubted anyone could prove any linkage between Cold Steel and the mine's new management, and that's all that mattered.

Once I got to the nearest Cold Steel office (less than a day if you were willing to risk flying in short bursts), it took only a few days to set up a trade route to service the villagers. Inside two weeks, the mine was operating once more, and supplies in far more generous quantities were flowing in to enrich the miners' lives.

Once the first diamond sale went off with no suspicions being raised, I declared that we had done everything we could for these people. Teyanen had also fully recovered, and so there really was nothing keeping us there.

After discussing it, we all agreed we were sick and tired of traveling cross-country. The latest news indicated the Congo government was more and more concerned with the growing unrest among the rubber plantation workers up north, and while people were still looking for Bergmann's patrol, there were no officially named suspects. With some of the pressure off us, we decided to go back to traveling by river. We briefly discussed taking the Sankuru downstream back towards Point Noir, but ultimately we decided to stick to our original plan of heading upstream. Traveling in that direction, we would eventually come across one of the country's few major railroads, which we could then ride all the way into Katanga.

Outside of the major Western ports, the Katanga region was the most highly developed area of the Congo. While the extended jungle safari had been interesting in its own way, I had to admit I was more than ready for a bit of civilization. With any luck, within the first week of May I would be relaxing in a nice little villa in Kolwesi with a hot cup of Visha's coffee by my side while I planned our next move.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you. As a bonus, there is an omake at the end of the chapter :)**_

_I now have a Discord server, PM me if you want an invite._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 23**

**May 12, 1929, Point Noir, Imperial Congo**

Less than a year ago, if someone had asked Mary Sioux who she hated most in the world, she would have unhesitatingly named Tanya von Degurechaff as the chief target of her ire. Since then, many things had happened that ended up broadening her horizons in unexpected and unwelcome ways. It was during this last month in Africa, however, that Degurechaff had found herself at risk of being replaced as number one on Mary's list of people she wanted to see drop dead.

When she had first signed on with Cold Steel Trading along with Becker and Royce, she had expected more of the same she had experienced in Colombia under Velvet Iron. Most of her time would be spent patrolling various installations, occasionally interspersed with intimidating or arresting hoodlums that tried to interfere with their client. Hopefully this time there would be no Imperial snatch squads mistaking her for Degurechaff, and she could actually find some clues towards the elusive girl's location.

Instead she had found herself dropped in the middle of a low key trade war. Cold Steel Trading and Imperial African Trading were fighting tooth and nail over the supplies of exotic goods from within the African interior, transported along the Congo and Kasai river systems. Timber, fruits, herbs, coffee, ivory, rubber, tin, copper, gold, diamonds, all of it moved down those rivers. The two companies were fighting tooth and nail to control the trade - and neither side were above strong arm tactics to keep their suppliers in line. Mary, Becker and Royce all found themselves constantly traveling up and down the rivers escorting trade caravans and visiting trading posts to make sure they remained free from interference. No shots were fired, but more than once she found herself staring down armed hirelings of Imperial African. What made it particularly nerve-wracking was that sometimes those hirelings were wearing the uniform of the Imperial Army. Luckily, openly displaying her computation orb seemed to be enough to convince them to back off. And the one time she found herself facing down aerial mages, Becker's presence and his reputation as a former member of the 203rd had been enough to cow them.

All this, Mary felt she could have eventually come to accept. After all, she was not blind to some of the rougher business practices in her adopted country of the Unified States. What made her gnash her teeth in impotent fury was the state of the Imperial African Company's rubber plantations.

It should be noted that Cold Steel Trading was very much a newcomer with an operating budget a fraction the size of Imperial African. There were several locations where Imperial African's stranglehold on the river-borne trade was well-nigh ironclad. Chief among these monopolies was the raw latex harvested from vines growing across large areas bordering the Congo River.

One of the tasks assigned to her by Cold Steel had been to scout out these plantations for potential weak points. What she saw there had left her wondering if perhaps Degurechaff was but a symptom of some much more systemic illness that pervaded the Empire as a whole. True, the life of the workers toiling away for American multinationals in Colombia was no walk in the park. But they were living on easy street compared to the miserable conditions of the African natives. Forced to work day in and day out for the simple right to eat, no rest nor medical care, paid in company scrip that was immediately confiscated in lieu of basic necessities like clothing and shelter, and most telling of all, forbidden from leaving to find more meaningful employment. It was slavery in all but name, and Mary had ended up pretty much storming Cold Steel's head office demanding to know how such a thing could be permitted in the 20th century, and requesting permission to launch a raid on Imperial African's holdings.

It had taken Becker, Royce, and Murtaugh, the President of Cold Steel, all working together to sit on her as they explained to her the facts of life. It seemed that Cold Steel had already reported the situation - the recordings taken by Mary would be just one more in a long string of complaints. Nor were they the only ones, before Cold Steel's appearance local missionaries had been raising a stink over the treatment of the locals. However, not only had Imperial African bribed a significant chunk of the local government and law enforcement into turning a blind eye, but Imperial Congo was directly administered by the Crown. In response to the reports orders had come in directly from Berun, instructing the Governor to suppress any local attempts to interfere with the business of the various companies which were apparently 'vital to national interest'.

Mary had never thought she would hate someone more than Tanya von Degurechaff, but those few weeks in the Congo had been enough to push the Kaiser - and all those complicit in the _de facto_ enslavement of the locals - to the top of her list. For the first time she began to seriously accept that Degurechaff may have been telling the simple truth when she claimed all her most horrific actions in the war had been carried out under orders from Berun. Certainly, people capable of perpetuating the atrocities she witnessed were capable of ordering anything during a war.

In the meantime, Cold Steel was taking quiet glee in supplying the most restless natives with modern arms and military gear sourced from Colombia. Of course, Mary did not believe for a second they were doing so out of the goodness of their hearts. Not only was Cold Steel making money off the arms trade, but the now armed rebellion was acting as a beautiful distraction for their rivals. Did Cold Steel care that the presence of firearms would only make the harsh oppression even harsher? No, they did not. As far as Cold Steel was concerned, the more energy Imperial African Trading spent oppressing their plantation workers, the less energy they would have to spend on various other markets where they were in conflict. The workers' ultimate fate was only of academic interest.

Well, Mary wasn't one to sit on her hands and do nothing. Part of her Interpol training had been knowing when and where something fell within Interpol's jurisdiction. As a result, she knew just how fuzzy the rules regarding Interpol's intervention actually were. In practice, Interpol usually only investigated a case when invited to do so by one of their member nations. Even then, it was generally assumed they would only start investigating within a country with that country's permission. However, legally speaking, Interpol could choose to investigate any criminal activity that had originated within a member nation and then crossed international borders. Furthermore, they could go into any country without needing to notify the government. It was only in the case of actual police actions like making arrests, invading privacy, or making searches and seizures that they needed local permission.

Mary was already stuck in an investigation that she was not willing to abandon, and she doubted she could persuade Captain Strong to get involved in the Congo mess. However, Interpol had other teams from other nations. And if there were one people she could count on to always be eager to give the Kaiser grief, it would be the Francois. As it happened, Interpol had a branch office in Lyon. The rubber harvested using slave labor could be considered criminal evidence, and the moment that evidence left the Congo for (among others) Albish and American markets, it became, technically, within Interpol's jurisdiction. Yes, it was a most tenuous legal interpretation, but it would be good enough for Interpol to start poking around, provided their agents were willing. Mary had put together a report carefully containing every scrap of evidence she had regarding the situation, along with her own legal justification for calling for an Interpol investigation, and towards the end of April, she had found a trustworthy courier to carry the report to Interpol's Lyon office.

The report's departure had been a weight off Mary's conscience. For the first time since joining Interpol, she felt as if she had struck a blow against the evils of the world. But now that she could turn her focus to other matters, Mary started to become aware that she may be in some trouble. She had only noticed it while trying to send out her report, but Becker and Royce seemed unusually interested in keeping her company. She may have chalked it up to prurient desires, except neither of them actually made any serious effort to flirt with her. They just seemed very interested in knowing what she was up to in her spare time. Even when their duties for Cold Steel separated them, Mary swore she had seen some of Becker and Royce's local friends popping up in the background.

Mary thought she had managed to send the report without tipping them off, but that didn't make the ongoing surveillance any more comfortable. Now that she was paying attention to her personal situation, she was getting the distinct feeling she had wandered into the belly of a hitherto invisible beast. After all, it was a question that had been in the back of her mind ever since she'd arrived in Africa - how did an unknown upstart like Cold Steel suddenly rise to challenge the monopoly of Imperial African Trading? Something about the paranoia of being under observation seemed to have sharpened her intellect, because over the last week disparate bits and pieces of information had come together to create a very disturbing answer to that question.

She, Becker, and Royce had found their way to Cold Steel via Velvet Iron Protection - a company she was convinced was deeply involved with Degurechaff.

The ships Cold Steel used to transport their goods were Albish in origin - and she had heard the name Tilbury Security in connection to their presence. Tilbury Security, the very starting point for her investigation into the missing mage.

The various trade goods and weapons that Cold Steel supplied the natives at a handsome profit were sourced mostly from the Colombian government at rock bottom prices, a government whose resurgent mage corps was suspected to have been equipped and trained by Velvet Iron, if not Degurechaff herself.

And, finally and most recently, there was Imperial funding. Becker had once complained in passing that in spite of his best recommendation, his extended aristocratic family had chosen to invest 'only' a quarter of a million marks in Cold Steel Trading. Mary had experienced firsthand the kind of fanatical devotion Degurechaff could inspire when she interviewed Serebryakov. Now she had to wonder just how deep were the pockets of those Imperials who identified themselves as Degurechaff's partisans.

As the connections grew in Mary's mind, so did the cold pit in her stomach. American and Imperial military expertise and funding, Colombian weapons and supplies, Albish shipping - resources from three continents mobilized to break the status quo in Imperial Congo and establish a new monopoly. And all of them connected - in ways impossible to prove beyond the tenuous - to Tanya von Degurechaff.

Yet the question remained, what was the purpose behind all this, and who was the mastermind? Degurechaff, for all her prodigious talent, was a child soldier. To put together an alliance like this required an immense understanding and experience of business and politics. Degurechaff's logistics training in the army was at best a poor substitute. It was absurd to suggest that a teenage fugitive could put together something like this in less than four years while on the run. No, this was proof positive that Degurechaff was being backed by people of great influence and foresight.

But this again brought forward the oldest question in police work - _cui bono_? The Albish were not sufficiently involved to be the brains. America had looked the prime suspect - until the Colombian embarrassment and aftermath. Colombia was definitely involved, but they struck Mary as more of a patsy than a prime mover. And that left the Imperials, which begged the question why they would encourage a native revolt in their own back yard.

The only answer Mary could come up with was that Degurechaff was being backed by Imperials, but not by the incumbent Imperial government. Whether one person or a wider conspiracy, the ones behind Degurechaff were likely seeking to destabilize the current power structure to their own benefit, starting with an ugly controversy in the Congo. Which meant she had indirectly played into their hands when she reported the situation to Interpol.

It was at this point that a particularly nasty thought came to Mary: _Did they know I'm an Interpol agent?_ If one assumed the primary purpose was to cause trouble for the Kaiser, then it would be useful to position an undercover Interpol agent as witness to the atrocities in the Congo. It would certainly explain the surveillance she was under, yet at the same time why she had been permitted to act more or less freely in her time here.

The worst part of it was, even in her own head Mary knew it all sounded like the ramblings of a paranoiac. No criminal conspiracy of any competence would be so confident in itself as to freely permit an Interpol officer into the heart of its operation. Yet at the same time her instincts were telling her she was being watched.

For days she had gone back and forth in her own mind. In one moment, she was convinced that she had been discovered and was being used as a pawn by a shadowy globe-spanning conspiracy. The next moment, she was sure no conspiracy existed, the various corporations were nothing more than allies of convenience, and Degurechaff nothing more than a fugitive bouncing from one patron to another one step ahead of the law. More than once, she had to fight the urge to grab her computation orb and fly all the way back to the Unified States where she would hopefully no longer feel as if a noose was tightening around her neck.

If she had been left to stew in her uncertainty for much longer, Mary had no idea what she would have ended up doing. Fortunately for her, in the second week of May she received some clear signs that whatever else, Cold Steel's management did not see her as a threat. First, her two watchdogs, Becker and Royce, were both assigned far away from her. Becker was going up the Congo to protect the various shipments going up to one of Cold Steel's biggest ivory collection points. Royce was going deep into the Kasai system to locate and protect the shipments from some new diamond mine that Cold Steel was now contracted to supplying. Second, Mary herself was given an important task - she was assigned as the chaperone to the daughter of one of Cold Steel's investors.

To be more accurate, the girl was the daughter of the CEO of Velvet Iron Protection. Mary had met the CEO Lydia Brown during her brief stay at Velvet Iron's New York office but hadn't thought her old enough to have a daughter. Either way, the assignment was a great relief to Mary because it meant she was still trusted. According to her briefing, the daughter was coming to Africa on some sort of training assignment. Her task was to oversee the operations of Cold Steel and report back to Velvet Iron on how their investment was doing, and Cold Steel was bending over backward to accommodate her. In many ways, this was an ideal assignment for Mary, as it meant she was going to be accompanying someone who was going to be poking into all of Cold Steel's business.

On the appointed day, Mary arrived bright and early to Cold Steel's HQ in Point Noir, eager to get started on her new assignment. Walking into the designated meeting room, she looked around to find her charge, and felt her heart stop in her chest. She barely even noticed the large and tough looking African woman in one corner of the office, or the Cold Steel executive standing up to make introductions. Because, standing in front of Mary, was a fair-skinned redhead who was almost a perfect match to the photos of Jennifer Ecks, one of Degurechaff's suspected aliases. Only where Jennifer Ecks had been reported to be in her twenties, the girl in front of her couldn't be more than sixteen, or in other words, the exact age of Tanya von Degurechaff.

The girl, who the executive introduced as Jenny Brown, gave a broad grin before striding across the room to grab Mary's numb hand. "Madelaine Smith! I've heard about you! They say those damned Imps mistook you for Tanya Degurechaff, but you kicked their asses anyway!"

"Ah... yes." replied Mary faintly, one tiny sane portion of her brain noting the Irish accent sounded very authentic even as the rest of it was busy gibbering in shock.

"Well, I guess I can't ask for a better guide than you. You'll have to tell me all about it! Oh, and this here's my companion Samantha Young," a careless hand was waved at the woman standing by the corner. "Now, Ms. Smith, tell me since you're gonna be our guide - where would you say is the biggest trouble in Congo happening right now?"

"Trouble?" The question served to knock Mary out of her shock. "Um... well... there's some kind of revolt in the rubber plantations..."

"Then that's where we're headed first."

The Cold Steel executive looked concerned. "Ms. Brown, that may not be very safe..."

"Screw safe," came the harsh response. Then 'Jenny Brown' refocused on her, and Mary felt a lump in her throat at the positively predatory cast to the girl's face. "What I'm looking for is the biggest trouble spots in the Congo. So if the rubber plantations are where trouble's at, that's where we're gonna be. Better pack for bear, Ms. Smith. This is gonna be _fun_!"

* * *

**May 15, 1929, Kolwesi, Imperial Congo**

While I did get my planned villa and Visha was doing an excellent job keeping me company and supplying me with her coffee, my vacation so far had been a bit less restful than I'd hoped. Kolwesi was one of the largest centers for the mining and refining of copper and cobalt in the Congo, and perhaps the world. As a result, it was well connected by rail, road, and telegraph, not just to the rest of the colony, but also to German East Africa, Albish Rhodesia, and Ispagnian Angola. What this meant was that the moment I'd sent out messages notifying my various holdings of my location (under the appropriate pseudonyms), I was buried under a deluge of backlogged paperwork.

Going through the reports of my various holdings, I could see the Great Depression starting to strangle the global economy. Lena had done a great job finding work for Velvet Iron's agents, but she'd been forced to put a freeze on further expansion. Household Magicks was still going strong, the virtue of being a first mover in a field where demand outstripped supply. Sunrise Botanicals continued to expand its drug farms as coffee plantations continued to face bankruptcy due to falling demand. Fortunately, the demand for medical marijuana and opium was holding steady. In fact, that study I had commissioned on medical uses of marijuana had come back with a report identifying some possible health benefits. It was far from conclusive, but it gave my lobbyists something to wave around when arguing against any attempt to tighten the laws on distributing those drugs.

And speaking of drugs, Cold Steel had managed to identify, from my descriptions, some of the herbs used by Shaman Abara in his divination brew, and samples of those herbs had been sent along to Household Magicks for further study. According to Lin's report, the mages of Household Magicks were working alongside some hospitals in Jersey to study the herbs.

So far, all they had achieved was an agreement that yes, some of these herbs did in fact react differently to mages channeling magic as opposed to other people. But they were still far from nailing down exactly what those effects were, or isolating the active ingredients. I penned a permission to continue the experiments. I wasn't expecting anything much, but my experience with those herbs had been memorable, and I was willing to spend a little money to satisfy my curiosity.

As for the rest of Cold Steel's business, they were definitely seeing falling demand due to the Depression. Fortunately, some of Cold Steel's biggest money makers like hardwood, ivory and diamonds had a high enough margin that they remained profitable even at reduced demand. Cold Steel's earnings had taken a hit, but a little profit was still better than no profit.

Still, I couldn't afford to be complacent. Much to my surprise, Cold Steel had become the largest of my companies by market capitalization. This was mostly because when I'd sent out a prospectus seeking investment, I'd gotten a very generous response from my former homeland. I had no idea there were so many people in the Empire looking for an opportunity to invest in an African company that had a sensible business plan. Gratifying as this outpouring of confidence in my business acumen had been, it still meant I had a bunch of investors to keep happy. For example, there was a note that Velvet Iron had sent out an inspector of some kind to look over Cold Steel's operations. I assumed it was simply Lena doing her due diligence, but with falling profits I could expect other, more hostile inspections in short order. I needed at least the prospect of new opportunities to soothe my investors. This is why I decided to take advantage of Kolwesi's telegraph connection to start sending out requests for information on the existing industries in the region, and to hire consultants to guide me on the local businesses. I even mobilized Koenig and the others to do some of the legwork.

At first glance, things looked bleak. Even two years back, this entire region had been screaming for investors. Copper, tin, gold, diamonds, the Katanga region and the Mutumbi mountains in the north-east had it all. Unfortunately, the Great Depression had frozen all industrialization in its tracks. Demand for copper had dropped like a rock in the last year, and tin prices had been falling even before the depression came knocking. It seemed my best option was to fund surveys in the mountains for commercially viable deposits of gold, even though extracting and transporting it was going to be a pain given the rocky terrain and lack of infrastructure.

I was idly toying with the possibility of refining the gold on the spot and transporting the bullion using mages to avoid the hostile terrain when I came across a document in my inbox that nearly made me spit out my coffee. It was a report on a small mine located near the town of Jadotville. The mine's ore contained small amounts of a metal that had a small but steady market in Europe and America. Most of the ore, however, comprised of a material that was considered a scientific curiosity with no useful applications. The document noted how, besides the commercially useful radium, the pitchblende being extracted from the mine contained something like ten times the normal concentration of uranium. I could feel my insides start to shrivel when I read that the mine was currently sitting on a stockpile of eight hundred tons of the richest uranium ore in the world, less than 150 kilometers east of where I was sitting.

I had to spend a few minutes furiously racking my brain before I remembered that most naturally occurring uranium was not useful in a nuclear bomb, and so I didn't have to worry about that big pile of ore suddenly exploding. Now that I was past my initial panic, I could start considering the matter from a business perspective. Right now, the world had no use for uranium. But that was not a situation which would persist for long. In fact, as I studied further details on the mine's operation, I realized the nuclear era might actually start earlier in this world than it did in my last.

The mine had started operation less than eight years ago for the purpose of supplying radium to the few industries that used the stuff. At first, demand had remained steady but small. The war had disrupted demand badly, which is what had caused an enormous buildup of inventory. After the war, demand had at first returned to old levels. Over the last two years though, the Empire had started ordering increasing amounts of the ore.

The Empire was one of the scientific leaders of the world. And unlike the Germany from my last life, they had not gone on a pogrom that had ended up driving away some of the world's best physicists. If there was an equivalent to Albert Einstein in this world, chances were he was still in the Empire and working diligently with others to unlock the secrets of the atom. Judging by the increasing demands for the ore, they might be experimenting with fission already. And once someone finally figured out what uranium was good for, that pile of ore might as well be a pile of gold.

I could feel the smile on my face. While the idea of nuclear weapons in a world with Being X made me nervous, the fact remained humanity was going to figure it out whether I wanted them to or not. But since this opportunity had dropped in my lap, I would be a fool to not take advantage of it. I started to plan.

* * *

**May 29, 1929, Elisabethstadt, Imperial Congo**

First Lieutenant Vooren Grantz of the 209th Mage Battalion looked up in surprise as a full pint of beer was placed next to his own half-empty one. His surprise grew even more as a gorgeous redhead slipped into the chair next to him with a wink and a smile. "You looked as if you needed more than one there, Lieutenant."

Normally Grantz would have dropped everything to focus on such a fine specimen of the female of his species, but recent events were weighing on his mind. So all he could muster was a bitter smile as he replied, "Is it that obvious?"

"The speed at which you were downing your current one was a bit of a clue," came the casual reply. "Although I am curious as to why you are drinking here instead of your officer's mess. Would your presence here have something to do with your attempt to drown your sorrows?"

Grantz scoffed. "You wouldn't care."

"Maybe not. But sometimes it can be useful to vent."

After a long moment of sullen silence, Grantz conceded the point. "You know what? Fine. So, last year..."

Elya paid close attention as Grantz unloaded his angst. Apparently the local copper magnates, first having forced their miners to work for them in near-slavery conditions, were now dismissing them left and right and shutting down their livelihoods thanks to reduced demand for the metal. And when the inevitable protests happened, they expected the army to step in! Grantz had joined the army to defend the Fatherland against its enemies, not to beat down helpless civilians, and this position was making him unpopular among his fellow officers.

While Elya had some sympathy for him, she was also secretly a bit disappointed. Grantz butting heads with the colonial authorities was nothing new, it was in fact part of his file. Nothing Grantz said seemed to indicate he had any recent communication with Degurechaff.

No matter. Elya had taken three months' leave before making her way on her own money to Elisabethstadt. Not only was this city the heart of Imperial administration in the Eastern Congo, it was also the location of the largest concentration of ex-203 mages. Of the company stationed in the city, not only was Grantz' entire platoon composed of Degurechaff's former subordinates, but the second in command of another platoon was also ex-203.

If Degurechaff had any major plans involving the Congo, it was inevitable she would reach out to Grantz, if only to sound out his loyalty. And where Degurechaff went, Visha wouldn't be far behind.

When Elya had first agreed to help Visha, it was with the understanding that Degurechaff had been a loyal hero who was being unjustly scapegoated. Since then though, Elya had seen too many clues indicating Degurechaff's involvement with too many foreign governments. Whatever her objections to how the Major had been treated, Elya was still a patriot.

So she would befriend Grantz. She would make herself part of his life. And she would wait. And when Visha finally showed up, Elya would have a long heart-to-heart with her friend about exactly what Visha's precious Major had been up to these last few years.

* * *

**June 3, 1929, Ndola, Albish Rhodesia**

Visha and I were sitting at a cafe and enjoying some shepherd's pie when Koenig joined us. I glanced up at him and smirked. "So, how goes it Mr. Vice President?"

Koenig rolled his eyes at us. "Oh wonderful. I'm going to be spending the next forever guarding shipments of ore. Exactly what I came to Africa to do."

"Suck it up," I replied bluntly. "I may have found that Albish manager to act as President, but I need someone I trust to keep an eye on him and to run security against outside interference."

Koenig rolled his eyes at me repeating something he already knew. Still, I felt it worth saying. Since I was establishing my mining-focused company, Black Diamond Inc., in Albish territory, I felt it prudent to hire an Albish as the President. Call it prejudice from the war, though, but I would never get over my first impression of the Albish as sly bastards. This is why I had also appointed Koenig as Vice President of Security, with Teyanen and Vogel as his assistants.

There was a very good reason why I had chosen to cross the border and set up Black Diamond on Albish soil. The idea of buying up as much uranium ore as I could against the day when people realized its value could be extremely profitable - provided the Empire didn't simply seize my holdings as a matter of national security. Whatever it's other good points, the Empire was still a functioning monarchy with a powerful military. Human rights only lasted as long as the Emperor wanted them to, as parts of the Congo amply demonstrated. The Albish, on the other hand, were largely democratic with their monarchy reduced to figureheads. If they chose to seize my uranium, I was at least more likely to get a fair price out of them for it.

"So, all the paperwork for the lead-lined warehouses are ready?" I asked.

"Yes they are. We're building storage for five thousand tons of pitchblende, and the President's already got land ready for another five thousand if we need it. Word's also come in from Jadotville, work on the rail line is starting."

As part of my deal with the uranium mine's owners, I'd agreed to extend the current rail network fifteen kilometers closer to the mine. In exchange, they were not only giving me their entire stockpile for free, but they were going to sell me as much of their product as I could afford at cost plus 3% for the next five years.

"Excellent. You know your other priorities?"

Koenig ticked off on his fingers. "Coordinate with Cold Steel to start prospecting for gold in the mountains, and carry out a proper mineral survey in Imperial East Africa." The tip on East Africa was something I'd found in my research. While there was some mining in that colony, the area between Lake Tanganyika and Lake Victoria had been very poorly surveyed. Hopefully I could find something profitable for Cold Steel to do. The mining industry in Rhodesia was considerably more developed, and I was happy to hire some Commonwealth experts using Black Diamond and send them into Imperial territory to search for shinies.

"And finally," continued Koenig, "Set up the import of copper ore through Elisabethstadt, and get the refinery running."

The copper refinery was the single largest outlay for Black Diamond. Luckily, I didn't have to set one up from scratch, instead leasing one which had gone defunct after the recent depression. As for why I was importing ore from the Congo instead of from the numerous Rhodesian mines, that would be the result of an absurd situation created by the current state of global politics.

Unlike Imperial Congo, where copper mining was both underdeveloped and under competing companies, the mines in Rhodesia were both well established and under the control of a cartel. This cartel had gone to considerable effort to maintain the price of copper in Rhodesia at a profitable level in spite of the global slowdown, and thanks to the ridiculous tariff barriers, importing the cheap Congolese copper piling up fifty kilometers away wasn't an option.

Fortunately for me, while copper metal might be subject to huge tariffs, copper ore was not. As for why no one else had already tried this, I put it down to poor Albish-Imperial relations. After all, even Black Diamond was using Cold Steel as a go-between to acquire the ore.

Amazingly enough, I didn't even have to worry about finding a customer for the copper. Within days of announcing our intentions, Black Diamond was playing host to a representative from the cartel. After some tense negotiations, they agreed to purchase our refinery's output at a very good price. In exchange, we promised not to sell to anyone else, not to tell anyone what we were doing, and not to expand our operations beyond a certain level.

I was sure the cartel thought they had done a fine job intimidating us upstarts into freezing our growth. Let them gloat. The whole reason I even bothered with the refinery was to use it as a smokescreen. After all, a company which does nothing but stockpile something as largely useless as uranium ore was bound to raise eyebrows. This way, if anyone asked what Black Diamond did, we could point at our refinery as the reason for our existence. The pitchblende stockpile was nothing but a speculative venture in radium as a side-project, or so would go the official story.

Ultimately, the true purpose of Black Diamond was to act as prospectors for Cold Steel, and to invest in uranium futures. As long as the refinery broke even, I couldn't care less. I would just wait for the day someone made the first working atomic pile. On that day the value of Black Diamond would shoot through the roof.

I didn't bother telling any of this to the others, since I had no good way of explaining how I knew so much about uranium. Instead I made vague mention of the recent trend of increasing Imperial interest in the ore to support my actions.

I did, however, decide to help the nuclear race along. Any of my loyalty to the Empire had long since faded, so I felt no guilt about sending a telegram to Lena asking her to use Velvet Iron's contacts in the American military to see if anyone could be persuaded to fund some research into the applications of uranium. After all, when you are trying to sell something, it paid to have more than one customer bidding for your merchandise.

After I was satisfied that Koenig understood what he was supposed to do, I started to make preparations for our group to split up.

Koenig and the boys would be mostly working around the copper belt, making sure Black Diamond got off the ground and coordinated properly with Cold Steel. Koenig was also making noises about getting in touch with Grantz who was posted to Elisabethstadt. I warned Koenig to be very careful about revealing himself, but otherwise wished him luck.

As for us girls, I, Visha and Emilie were going to travel through north-eastern Rhodesia before eventually reaching Lake Tanganyika. The lake was a large navigable water body connecting Congo, Rhodesia, and East Africa. It was also the location of arguably the Empire's most embarrassing defeat during the war. A 'volunteer' Albish naval force consisting of some armed riverboats managed to beat back an Imperial flotilla that had the Albish outmassed, outnumbered, and outgunned. If not for the Empire's victory in Europe, they might have lost East Africa entirely. I was naturally curious to see the sight of this small but interesting conflict.

Besides the military interest, Lake Tanganyika could also serve as my next base of operations. With easy access to three different colonies by water, rail, and road, it would provide me considerable flexibility as I awaited the results of my latest machinations. Holding still might be ill-advised for a fugitive, but so far I'd seen almost no indication that anyone even knew I was on the continent. I foresaw no difficulty in spending at least a few weeks enjoying a relaxing lakeside retreat with Visha and Emilie while I waited for the news around the world to catch up with me.

* * *

**Non-canon Omake: Meet The Boss**

Bertram Emsworth was not happy. Four days ago, with no warning, the Vice President of Security came into his office and handed him travel documents, and told him he was being called to a meeting by the owner of Manpower Plus, the mysterious company that held the majority shares of his employer, Black Diamond Inc.

In most other cases, it would be ridiculous for a Vice President to be ordering the President around. Bertram knew better. In Black Diamond it was a little known secret that the Vice President of Security was also the unofficial representative of the enigmatic owners of the company, and as such was the tail that wagged the dog. This had been underlined in 1932 when the original Vice President of Security, some Imperial named Koenig, had decided to move on and had been replaced by a native recruit named Henry Olonga. Bertram's predecessor, a dynamic old warhorse named Farnsworth, had delivered a blistering objection at the mere suggestion that a gentleman of breeding should ever take orders from some black-skinned savage.

Two days later, Farnsworth had vanished, and Olonga was in Bertram's office asking if he'd like a promotion from Vice President of Procurement to full President.

Bertram, tempted by the increase in salary and perks, had accepted, and apart from the occasional instructions from on high, he'd been largely left to operate Black Diamond as he saw fit. Still, that meant when Olonga came and handed him his marching orders, he swallowed his annoyance and complied.

So, for three days, he'd been traveling. First, by train and ferry all the way from Ndola in Rhodesia to Mzizima in Imperial East Africa. Now, he was aboard a seaplane and heading out into the Indian Ocean. At least his pilot, a loquacious Canadian by name of Lewis, had shared with him that they were on their way to the island of La Digue in the Seychelles.

Contrary to Albish stereotypes, Bertram did in fact know his geography. So he knew the Seychelles were a set of modest islands controlled by the Albish and mostly useful for their tropical crops, their position between Africa and Asia, and as places to stash inconvenient people, like political prisoners and lepers. La Digue, he vaguely remembered, was one of the larger islands, so at least they weren't headed to a leper colony.

It was as they were landing that Bertram received the first hint his visit was going to be even more uncomfortable than anticipated. The pilot Lewis, on getting in touch with La Digue Air Control, was asked for a password, to which he replied a short string of numbers and letters. Then looking around and noticing Bertram's curiosity, had grinned broadly and said, "Every time I come by here, I think to myself, 'Lewis old boy, better pray you remember the day's password, or you're gonna get blown out of the sky'. Lucky for you, I got it right this time too."

Bertram had thought he was joking. "Oh, they'd shoot you down would they?"

Lewis had nodded seriously. "You better believe it. I seen it myself, a shiny new Bofors 40mm ack-ack cannon, and I bet they got more than one. Folks on this island, they could give the damn Royal Guard lessons in paranoia."

Bertram was still trying to come to terms with this when they finally landed. At the pier he'd been greeted by a Bharati and whisked away by motorized rickshaw, past a guarded steel fence, and to a doorway cut into the base of the hill that dominated the island.

Waiting for him at the entrance was a true Slavic beauty, long straight lustrous brown hair and blue eyes, strong but aristocratic features, and superb curves that were only accentuated by the fitted dress shirt and short tight skirt. Introducing herself as Viktoriya Serebryakov (and why did that name sound vaguely familiar?) she led him into the hill.

It took all of his excellent Oxford education for Bertram not to stop and gawp. The greeting room was a massive chamber hollowed out from the native rock, but calling it a cave would be like calling Buckingham Palace a house. High quality electric lamps lent a soft glow to the room. The granite walls had been laboriously cut into aesthetically pleasing angles and polished to a mirror sheen. The wooden fixtures and furniture looked plain at first glance, but were obvious to his eye as having been created from the best tropical hardwoods. He didn't recognize the artists of the paintings that graced the wall, but he wouldn't be surprised to learn they were lesser known compositions from modern masters, the talent in the brushtrokes seemed clear to his layman's eye. And pride of place went to the enormous gorgeously patterned blue-green rug that lay in the center of the room. As he stepped across it, even through the soles of his shoes he could tell the rug was not cotton or wool, but silk. His mental calculator ran out of zeroes trying to calculate the cost of a silk rug of that size and quality.

The shocks didn't stop there. Apparently, higher levels in the hill had been carved out into guest quarters. His own rooms were a superbly appointed suite, with a coolness that spoke of actual air-conditioning, a plate glass window with a superb view of the island, and all the modern amenities. He had no hesitation pouring himself a three of scotch from the minibar to try and calm his nerves. In his own mind he was forced to admit, the strange combination of beauty, luxury and ruthless paranoia was leaving him apprehensive. Especially since he didn't even know what exactly had prompted this sudden summons.

It was later that evening that a servant informed him the last of the guests had arrived, and he was to present himself at the Conference Room. The conference room, when he got there, comprised of a large room with an enormous window that dominated one wall. A long table was in the center, with a chair at the head of the table. The chair was currently turned around, its concealed occupant facing out the window, a cup of coffee by the table the only clue the high-backed chair was even occupied. A young female voice called out, "Welcome, Mr. Emsworth. Please, pour yourself a drink from the bar and pick a chair. We will start shortly."

The unseen occupant at the head of the table was not the only one present. There were others, and more kept coming in. Pouring himself another of the same excellent scotch that had been in his room, Betram tried to identify the occupants. Unfortunately, the only ones he recognized were Murtaugh and Roth. Murtaugh was an Imperial and the boss of Cold Steel, the biggest name in transport, mining, and forestry in most of Central Africa and a close partner to Black Diamond. The gorgeous redhead Elya Roth he only knew as a big buyer of Black Diamond's copper, and the woman in charge of some infrastructure company in the Middle East.

The others were an eclectic bunch. There was a swarthy stocky woman of what he judged was Ispagnan stock, a young Qinese woman in some oriental robe, another Ispagnan gentleman, a Bharati chap looking incongruous in a three-piece suit, and a distinguished middle-aged fellow that had a distinct Middle Eastern look to him.

Bertram had just finished taking stock of his companions when the chair at the head finally turned around, revealing a girl who didn't look a day older than eighteen, with messy bright blond hair and eyes as freezing blue as chips of ice. Bertram felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Before coming to Africa he'd been in the Albish army and had avidly followed the news of the war. Even after so many years, he had no trouble recognizing the woman in the boss' chair. Sure enough, her words confirmed his worst fears. "Welcome ladies and gentlemen. Some of you may know me already, but I am Tanya von Degurechaff. And as of six months ago, I was officially named the owner of Manpower Plus. And thus, not to put a fine point on it, your boss."

After a moment to let that sink in, she continued. "As for why you are all here, it is simple. All of you are leaders of various companies, working independently but all under Manpower's umbrella. Well, it is high time all of you got to know each other so we may now face the future, united in purpose. Some of you already know each other, but I will make introductions."

Indicating the Bharati she said, "This is Shivkumar Chanderpaul. He is the head of the Islander Agricultural Cooperative. As the name suggests, his organization coordinates the efforts of numerous farms and plantations across the various island communities here and elsewhere. And he has some recent good news for us. Mt. Chanderpaul?"

The Bharati spoke in almost flawless Albish, "Our efforts to secure ownership of La Digue has entered its final stage. Apart from two plantations, every other scrap of land on this island is either a member of our cooperative or directly owned by Manpower. The last two plantations simply cannot compete with us. Their owners have been politically marginalized and can no longer use the local government to interfere with us. They will either sell to us now, or they will go bankrupt in a few years. Either way, this island is now effectively ours."

The blond devil nodded. "A small but important victory. Colonial plantations are a thing of the past. Once we hold the island, our agricultural cooperative will have a platform from which to expand not just to all the other islands, but to the mainland as well." Turning to the Ispagnan gentleman she continued, "Mr. Vargas has joined us all the way from Colombia. As the CEO of Sunrise Botanicals, he controls the single largest supplier of opium and marijuana in the Americas. The primary customer is the Unified States, but Sunrise supplies its product to all the Americas and is now expanding to Europe and Africa. And I hear you have another success of late?"

"Indeed I do, madam," Vargas replied obsequiously. "We have finally concluded short-term trials of our new compound that we call Lysamide. A most interesting chemical, it acts as a mental enhancer for mages, while in mundanes its a potent hallucinogenic. Trials show that in spite of its potency, it is less harmful to the physique than tobacco, and unlike opium is extremely difficult to overdose on. Volunteers have taken twelve times the recommended dose with no real ill-effect. The American, Kanatan, Brasilian and Colombian governments have already placed orders for their aerial mage programs, but I would also like to pursue possibly marketing it as a recreational drug."

"You will do more than that," cut in Degurechaff. "You say it is less harmful than tobacco? Is that provable?"

"Oh yes, absolutely."

"Then push that comparison. Push it hard. If possible, I want this to replace tobacco as the recreational drug of choice."

"Ah, I should warn you that unlike tobacco, Lysamide is quite debilitating. Driving a car, for example, is extremely ill-advised under the influence."

"So is alcohol. That doesn't stop anyone from drinking. Be imaginative." Turning to the dusky woman, the blonde continued, "This is Lydia Brown, CEO of Velvet Iron Protection, New York. Purveyors of weapons and security specialists, magical and mundane. Lydia, what news?"

"The American economy is finally pulling itself out of the hole, so we are getting more customers. If it keeps up, we'll have supplanted the Pinkertons as the biggest names in private security on the East Coast from Kanata to Washington."

"Excellent." Now it was the turn of the Qinese. "This is Changying Lin, CEO of Household Magicks of New Jersey, specialists in the research and performance of Oriental ritual magic. Normally they sell rituals that promote health and reduce accidents over a large area, but recently they have perfected something for our _private _use."

The girl nods. "Old ritual, but now made useful. Makes people more friendly and agreeable. Not much use if they are very stubborn, but good for getting people to go along if they are not enemies. Hard to detect if mage not know what to look for."

"As you can guess, such a ritual would be invaluable in negotiations or making a good first impression," said Degurechaff with a smile. "I'd like all of you to see if you would benefit from having such a ritual emplaced in your facilities. After all, such methods are currently not illegal. I know I'll be using it when I meet the Persian ambassador next week."

There was a small chuckle that swept around the room. Bertram joined in, but his voice sounded horribly nervous to his ears.

"Now we come to the Middle East. Mr. Haroun bin Rashid of Byzantium Petrochemicals of Constantinople in Turkmen, and Ms. Elya Roth of Blue Gulf Infrastructure in Abu Dhabi of the Trucal States. They have been working hard securing our influence in what will be the next big oil producing region. What news?"

The two exchanged glances, before Haroun took the lead. "News is good. The Albish attempt to unify Central Arabia into one big oil monopoly is dead in the water. The region's stabilized into multiple sheikdoms, each being backed by a different major power. Of these, the Khafjils are eager to ally with Turkmen to get access to the Mediterranean-Gulf pipeline that we just finished building. And of course, I understand recent events have made the Imperial-backed Doha ripe for Blue Gulf to expand into?"

This question was addressed to Roth, who smirked and displayed a magnificent diamond ring on her finger. "The sheikh's third son is such a romantic young man. Always happy to see his lovers happy, and he does have the sheikh's ear."

"Now, Mr. Murtaugh. CEO of Cold Steel Trading, general suppliers, mining, logistics, with routes all through Central Africa. How does it go?"

"Steady, ma'am, real steady. We've finally overtaken Imperial African Trading in the Congo. Makes us the biggest name there and in Imperial East Africa. We're also making headway in Rhodesia and Angola. Probably as much as 15% of all goods in the region are carried by Cold Steel."

"And last but not least, we come to Mr. Emsworth of Black Diamond Inc., Rhodesia. It is a message from him that prompted this meeting. We are entering a new era, of great risk as well as great opportunity. Mr. Emsworth, I understand you are having difficulty stockpiling pitchblende?"

"Yes? I mean, we already have over six thousand tons of the stuff that we gathered over five years, but recently it seems the Imperial government took over our sole supplier and they're refusing to sell."

"Unsurprising. To those who don't know, pitchblende is the ore for a metal called uranium. Ten years ago, it was a scientific curiosity, its possible uses largely theoretical and confined to the Empire's more esoteric researchers. More recently though, experiments are showing the metal, if properly handled, can be the source of unimaginable power. To put it into context, properly utilized, it would make my little accident over Brest look like a minor incident. Mr. Emsworth, have you been receiving any inquiries about purchasing your stockpile."

Bertram had to fight through the numb horror of Brest being called 'a minor incident', but he answered, "Yes, but not from the Imperials. The Americans."

"Naturally. The Americans are not that far behind the Empire in their research. And now that the Empire has moved to monopolize the best known supply of the material, they will be desperate. Of course, the Empire will want to build their own stocks as quickly as possible, so expect them to come calling as well. And since the Albish spies have both countries thoroughly penetrated, the Allied Kingdom will also be interested, if only to see what the fuss is about."

Degurechaff got up from her chair and looked coldly at the entire table, her freezing gaze sweeping over each and every one. "Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen. Whoever can first perfect the practical application of uranium will become a global superpower. And courtesy of Mr. Emsworth, our organization is the only one in the world controlling a strategic stockpile of the material. This will be a bidding war unlike anything the world has ever seen, gentlemen. And we are going to take them for every single cent."

Now a grin akin to a shark was stretching across her face, and Bertram suddenly realized why this young woman had earned the name 'The Devil of the Rhine'. In a voice filled with what could only be called murderous joy, she cheerfully declared, "Of course, there may be those unwilling to pay our price. So all of you best prepare. Someone will try to be clever. To deny us our due. They will soon realize, Manpower is ready to take on the world."


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 24**

**June 8, 1929, somewhere in the Congo interior**

Jenny Brown smiled sweetly at the leader of the Imperial African Trading Company's guard post and giggled charmingly at the man's flattery. The guard leader, a Francois expatriate with all that nation's stereotypical gallantry towards women, waved the little convoy past with barely a glance at the back of the truck. Not that a proper search would have revealed anything except some chests full of women's clothing and camping gear. All the guns and ammunition that had been secreted in the back had already been distributed, replaced with a small tightly packed bundle of currency that could easily be claimed as 'traveling money'.

A few hours later, the convoy, consisting of a car carrying Jenny, Mary, Samantha, and a small truck supposedly carrying the rest of Jenny's luggage, arrived at a village outside the immediate influence of the Imperial African Trading Company. From the truck hopped down Mr. Grossman, secret representative of Cold Steel. Retrieving the box of money, he shook hands with all three of them, thanking them for their aid, then headed to a waiting car.

As they watched him drive away, Samantha turned on Jenny with a deep scowl. "Congratulations, you're a gun-runner. You happy now, or want to commit a few robberies or murders while you're at it?"

"Hey, don't look at me!" Jenny shrugged carelessly. "After Mary here gave that eloquent speech on how the locals are getting fucked over you'd need a heart of stone not to help. Seriously, where's your racial solidarity, Sam? No love for your African brothers and sisters?"

"I have two brothers and a sister at home and they're a bunch of noisy freeloaders, I don't need no more. And you," Samantha rounded on Mary, "Stop encouraging her!"

Mary felt her face burn. She wanted to protest she hadn't actually _encouraged_ Jenny, but Samantha was clearly in no mood for quibbling. The fact was, when Jenny had started quizzing her about the conditions around the rubber plantations, Mary hadn't been able to resist getting on her soapbox. Particularly when a couple of weeks ago the Kaiser had ordered a blanket ban on natives owning firearms in an effort to reduce resistance, never mind that a large chunk of the native population survived on hunting and gathering.

Jenny had taken that as an excuse to get involved with Cold Steel's discreet efforts to ignore the ban and keep supplying weapons to the locals. It had taken her a while, but she had charmed and wheedled her way into finally being trusted with a major shipment deep into the territory controlled by Imperial African Trading.

Samantha rubbed her face in exasperation. "Jenny, my job is to protect you. If anything happens to you, I might as well run into the jungle and join the revolution, 'cos your mum will skin me alive before turning what's left over to Miz Ecks. Can we please not get involved any further in this shit?"

"Eh, all right. I've seen enough anyway. Where's next on our list?"

That was something Mary had noticed. Jenny and Samantha never discussed it directly, but Jenny was very much looking for someone. Every time they went somewhere, they would assiduously gather information on all the local movers and shakers, and each time they did, Jenny would have a distinct air of disappointment. Mary had considered they might be looking for Degurechaff, but that made no sense. Degurechaff was supposed to be closely involved with Velvet Iron, why would they send some child to look for her? And that was assuming Jenny wasn't Degurechaff herself.

That was perhaps the most frustrating part of the whole exercise. Mary simply couldn't bring herself to definitively say that Jenny wasn't Degurechaff in disguise. Yes, Jenny had made a very convincing show of being a non-mage. After so much time in close proximity, Mary was absolutely convinced that the girl was not under an illusion, and Jenny had not given the slightest hint of using any other kind of magic. Yes, both Jenny and Samantha spoke as if Ecks was an entirely different person. And yes, she couldn't see a known martinet like Degurechaff tolerating being treated like an unruly child the way Samantha sometimes did to Jenny.

And yet, Mary had seen Jenny sparring with Samantha. The girl was a shockingly good brawler the way Degurechaff was supposed to be. She had the close links to Velvet Iron that Degurechaff was supposed to have. And she matched Degurechaff for age and physical build. Their faces might not be alike, but right from the very beginning her Interpol team had considered the possibility that Degurechaff might have undergone cosmetic surgery to change her appearance.

On balance, Mary was leaning towards Jenny being who she said she was, and Jennifer Ecks being Degurechaff's disguise. But that only opened up the question as to what the connection between two of them was, because the few times Ecks had come up in conversation Jenny seemed to speak of her with far greater familiarity than she should have towards an employee of her adopted mother.

Mary was jolted from her musing by Samantha and Jenny finishing their discussion. "Right, so it's decided! We're headed to Kolowesi, and then to Elisabethstadt!" declared Jenny.

"All right. Provided Smith here doesn't have another rebellion she'd like us to join nearabouts there?" asked Samantha, giving Mary an annoyed look.

"I am not some kind of revolutionary," Mary mumbled. "What's at those places anyway?"

"Cold Steel recently partnered up with some company out of Rhodesia called Black Diamond, they have an office at Elisabethstadt. Since that's the most interesting thing happening, we're going to check it out. Kolowesi... lot of activity around there, and it's on the way."

"What about that new diamond mine you were interested in?" asked Mary.

"We'll stop by on the way. Doubt there'll be much to see though, they just seem to be some natives who struck it rich."

_So you're not actually interested in the locals, which means whoever you're looking for isn't one. _Mary had nothing more than speculation as to Jenny's final goal, but this was one confirmed clue to add to her list.

* * *

**June 9, 1929, Mpulungu, Rhodesia, on the shore of Lake Tanganyika**

Even without hurrying, I, Visha, and Emilie reached the southern tip of Lake Tanganyika with speed and comfort. This was not surprising, since the Albish had gone to considerable effort to develop and fortify the harbor. It was, after all, the only non-Empire port on the lake. Being an excellent staging point for threatening Imperial control of Central Africa in any future conflict, the Rhodesian government had received funding to build an excellent road to support the harbor, and construction was under way on a railroad.

For the Empire's sake, I hope they took the threat seriously. After all, the harbor hadn't even been finished when the war had started, and the scratch Albish volunteer force had to drag their boats through miles of jungle before floating them on the lake to confront the Empire's forces. Yet, they had proven victorious, and even now captured Imperial gunboats were part of the force guarding Mpulungu harbor.

None of us were really concerned about the harbor though. According to local lore, after the then Rhodesian governor had visited the place for fishing and a picnic he had been so charmed by the locale that he had agreed to fund the harbor construction right out of his discretionary funds. While none of us were interested in fishing, there was no denying the location's natural beauty, particularly since we managed to find a discreet and modest lakeside bungalow away from the bustle of the main harbor.

It was here that I was witness to a feat of logistics that impressed even me. Somehow, by the time we were settled, Visha had managed to procure swimsuits for all three of us - blue for me, black for Emilie, and white for Visha. The private pier attached to our dwelling was also swiftly repurposed as a sun deck, with chairs, blankets, umbrellas and drinks tables. Since all three of us were very fit in our own ways, we must have made quite the sight to any man lucky enough to catch a glimpse. I wasn't thinking about any potential audiences though. I had plenty to think about much closer at hand.

For starters, I was now certain of one thing. My teenage hormones had indeed fixated on Visha as the object of my lust. Emilie might be a bit older and less classically beautiful than Visha, but she was still a fine looking woman and she definitely made that black two-piece swimsuit look good. But it was Visha in her white one-piece that I had to fight myself to keep from openly staring at. It took some careful deep breathing, but I managed to put my eyes back in my head and limit myself to the occasional discreet glance at the pair of them while I lay on my chair with my coffee (fortified by just a dash of rum) and my reading material. Little was I to know that having two scantily clad beauties in close proximity was just the first and least challenge my willpower was to face during our stay.

I had just settled in for a lazy day enjoying the warmth, when Visha sprung yet another surprise on me. I cannot honestly say it was an unpleasant one, but at the time all I could think was how it signaled an end to my peaceful relaxation. I couldn't help but wonder where on earth she had even got the thing. Sitting in her hand like an armed grenade, was a bottle of suntan oil.

* * *

**June 12, 1929, Elisabethstadt, Imperial Congo**

The two old comrades greeted each other with much jubilation and backslapping before ordering their drinks from the bar and moving their reunion to a private room. After checking for eavesdroppers with skill that had become instinctive, their good cheer turned somber for a moment as they raised a toast. "To absent companions." It was only after the first swig of the admittedly mediocre beer that the two started on the important task of catching up.

"Well, Koenig, I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you again in a hurry. I received a letter from Weiss saying you'd quit your commission to go into private work, and some months back I heard rumors you were in South America? How on earth did you end up here?"

"Oh, that's a long tale, but right now I'm Vice President of Security for Black Diamond Inc., out of Rhodesia."

"That sounds fancy. But the Albish? Really?"

"Hey, I go where the work is. By the way, congratulations again on your promotion, First Lieutenant Grantz. You certainly earned it."

"Thank you, but I'm pretty sure they promoted me so they could have an excuse to stick the lot of us all the way out here."

"Well, if you want to go into the private sector, I know some people who are hiring. Just say the word."

"You know, I heard something about that. Heard that several members of the 203rd have disappeared from the Empire and reappeared in the oddest places. Including our most famous member."

Koenig shrugged. "Is it so surprising? We are the pioneers of the dual-core orb. That is valuable experience in which many employers are interested. Speaking of famous members though, I haven't really had a chance to talk to Weiss since leaving the Empire. How are things on the home front?"

Grantz accepted the deflection. "Weiss has been assigned a teaching position in Berun. He's married now, with a beautiful baby girl. Three guesses what he named her, and the first two don't count."

Koenig considered this, then said, "Weiss is a bold man. Isn't he afraid his daughter will try to take after her namesake?"

"I think the Captain was suffering from nostalgia," laughed Grantz. Then his expression grew more severe. "Other news, not so good. Neumann is in prison."

"What? Why?!"

"I don't have details, just what Weiss told me. But apparently Neumann got assigned to some top secret testing unit. Then something fucked up, he almost got killed. Whatever happened, it ended with him punching out someone high up. They didn't quite throw the book at him, but he won't see daylight for a couple of years. Would've been worse if not for his record."

"I see."

"Yeah..." After a somber moment, Grantz shook himself. "So, were you really in South America? Were you involved in that fracas with the Americans and Colombians?"

"Yes I was. Chalk up one more kill for me."

"Yes, well, from what I heard, Visha did it all singlehanded."

"Lies and exaggeration. She only got a third of them at best."

"And that mess with our replacements supposedly trying to capture the Major?"

"I'd already left, but I heard about that. Those idiots somehow fixed on some girl and decided she was the Major and tried to kidnap her. Luckily Becker and Royce were on hand to save her from those idiots."

"Imperials fighting Imperials. What a mess," grumbled Grantz. "You know they even hauled me in for questioning about that?"

"Yes, they must have been really desperate to assume you know anything about anything."

"Haha, very funny. What are you doing here anyway, Koenig?"

"Looking for a source of copper for Black Diamond."

"Really? Well you came to the right place. There's a glut of that stuff."

"Mmm, not the refined metal. I'm looking for a source of raw ore."

Grantz blinked. "Don't they already have some in Rhodesia?"

"Cartels. Americans, if you can believe it. We're having to import."

"I see. Well..." Grantz trailed off suddenly. After a moment of silence, he spoke, "Say, Koenig, do you really care where the ore comes from?"

"Not...really? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking the local copper mines have been closing down because of lack of demand and all the workers being let go. For a lot of them, that's actually good, since they were being forced to work against their will. For the others though, they have nowhere to go. They've been miners since the Francois era, this is their livelihood. If you'd be willing to buy directly from them...I know some of them, they're good people..."

"Won't they be mining the copper on land that doesn't belong to them?"

"They need this Koenig..."

Koenig raised his hand. "I'm not saying no. But we'll have to disguise the source, I can't let my company be held liable. And on top of that, the ore needs to come in quantities large enough and cheap enough to be worth the effort."

"Oh..."

"And doing all that will need someone to coordinate the native workers. Arm them, supply them, keep them organized and discreet. I have sources that can provide supplies and weapons, but I can't be the one to actually talk to the natives. I have a responsibility to the company, Grantz. I can't get caught up in something like this. Who's going to be the man on the ground here to make sure everything goes off smoothly? You?"

There was a long moment of silence, then Grantz whispered, "Why not?"

"What was that?"

"I said, why not me? I'm pretty sure my platoon will back me, or at least turn a blind eye. With a flight orb and permission to fly in local airspace, I'm ideally placed to run around the hinterland making sure things stay on track."

"Grantz, are you sure? If they catch you..."

"They'll put me in a cell next to Neumann. Big deal. You don't know what it's been like out here, Koenig! Do you remember Arenne?"

"Hard to forget."

"I hated it, you know. I hated what we had to do there. I hated the Major for making us do it. But after coming here, I realized this place is even worse. At least Arenne had a purpose! We were fighting to protect the Fatherland! Here? We still beat unarmed civilians, we shoot them, we kill them, and for what? To line the pockets of a few of the Kaiser's lackeys?"

"The Major wouldn't have wanted you to throw away your career like this..."

"With all due respect, fuck the Major. That cold bitch would have burnt the world down if she got orders to do it! And she'd have dragged us along for the ride!"

"Grantz! Watch yourself!"

"Tell me I'm wrong! Look me in the eye, Koenig, and tell me I'm wrong!"

The air roiled with tension for a long moment, then Koenig sat back and said, "You might have been right once. But the Major isn't part of the army any more. No one to give her orders like that. Now, it's all her own decision."

Grantz leaned forward, his voice dropping to a barely audible murmur, "Really? What has the Major been doing then? You and the others have been with her, haven't you?"

Koenig shook his head in the negative. "Opsec", he bit out.

Grantz relaxed with a disappointed sigh. "Really? Is that all you have to say?"

"You should pay more attention to the wider world. Then you'd know it's not all doom and gloom. For instance, the fight with those American mages. We did some genuine good there, they were going to forcibly put down a bunch of workers protesting for fair wages, you know."

"The Major wasn't reported to be part of that."

"Who said she was?" Koenig bestowed a look so blank on Grantz it might as well have been a signal in its own right.

Grantz huffed. "All right, assuming that the devil grew a conscience. That just proves my point. If she's willing to fight the good fight, how can I hold myself back?"

"We had the Colombian government to hide behind, Grantz. You'll be on your own."

"Maybe not entirely on my own... Like I said, I've met some good people, and I have some of our old comrades with me. I'll make it work. And anyway, the Albish border is just a hop away."

Realizing Grantz really was adamant about this, Koenig didn't protest further. Instead, after one last check for eavesdroppers, the two friends, comrades, and now conspirators, spent the next hour laying the groundwork for grand theft resource.

It was as they were parting ways that Grantz asked, "So, I know you don't know anything about where the Major might be or what she's doing. But if you had to guess?"

Koenig smirked. "Wherever she is, I'm sure she's doing something exciting. Or dangerous. Or both."

* * *

**On the same day, around the same time, Mpulungu, Rhodesia**

I knew I shouldn't do it. Yes, I was about to take a very dangerous step. But as I was being forced to remember, sometimes teenagers just can't control themselves.

It had all started with that damned bottle of suntan oil (made in America). I have no idea if it actually worked to protect one from the sun, but it seemed harmless and smelled pleasant, and when applied to skin left a gleaming sheen that I quickly discovered looked dangerously attractive. So I guess it worked in at least one way, if perhaps not the way advertised.

When Visha had first handed me the bottle three days ago, I had frantically tried to think of an objection that wasn't 'please don't tempt me like this'. However, my desire to maintain a professional distance took a massive hit when Visha lay down and gave me access to her toned back and legs. And then any feeble hope of resistance crumbled when Emilie agreed it was a fine idea and lay down next to Visha, demanding I do the same for her. I had noticed Visha giving Emilie a disgruntled look which Emilie returned with a smirk, but I had been too concerned about giving away my rising libido to worry about that byplay.

In the end, I am proud to report that I got through the experience without embarrassing myself. I am confident I did an adequate job massaging the oil into their skin (which after so much time in the jungle honestly needed it), while resisting all temptation to let my hands stray. It proved easier than expected, I just had to see it as a job to be done, and my professional pride kept me from doing anything untoward.

The real challenge to my professionalism came when Visha had taken the oil and declared it my turn. At first, I thought I could get through the experience with minimum fuss. After all, I knew what it was like to be massaged by a beautiful woman, courtesy a vacation to Thailand I'd taken when in my twenties in my past life.

Alas, halfway through I realized my comparison to a Thai massage parlor was more apt than I had expected. It was nothing blatant, but Visha's massage was more daring than anything I expected. Honestly, if I'd been a man, I might have taken it as an invitation to something more.

That had been a genuinely dangerous situation. Knowing Visha, it was just her natural uninhibited nature coming out to play. Making a big deal out of it was the worst possible thing I could have done, but I had to do something. Those strong fingers were driving me to distraction, and I had to bite my lip to keep control of my reactions. I ended up falling back on the meditative exercises that I had perfected during my sojourn under the care of the Imperial Secret Police. Originally designed to resist pain and deprivation, they proved barely adequate at keeping my breathing even and my body relaxed as I did my best to enjoy my first massage in over twenty years of combined life.

I had almost breathed a sigh of relief when the massage had ended. Emilie had been a witness to the proceedings, but her only reaction had been mild amusement, probably at my obvious inexperience with Visha's style of massage. Since it was clear she had seen nothing wrong in what had happened, it seemed the experience really had been within acceptable bounds when conducted among female friends. It really was a good thing I hadn't reacted too strongly, otherwise they might have wondered why.

That was three days ago. This was today. And, as I said, I was about to do something potentially dangerous. We were once more gathered to enjoy the sun, I had once more been handed the suntan oil, and thanks to that first memorable massage I now had an excuse to be a bit daring myself... and I was enough of a teenager to take ruthless advantage of it.

I was on tenterhooks throughout, afraid of crossing some invisible line known only to women, but neither Visha nor Emilie objected, so I must have done something right. Although their faces did look a bit flushed after I was done.

"You have some natural talent in those fingers, Tanya," Emilie complimented me.

"Thank Visha, she showed me how," was my relieved response.

Strangely, Visha didn't seem all that pleased at Emilie's words. I was a bit puzzled by it, but when it was my turn to be pampered I realized why. Visha must have taken Emilie's words as a challenge to her own skill, because this time her efforts were even more patient, even more solicitous... and even more risqué. And once again, it passed without comment from Emilie.

I knew I should have deescalated. This was such a silly thing to compete over. But, well, I always did like a challenge. Even a most unexpected one.

* * *

**June 28, 1929, Elisabethstadt, Imperial Congo**

"So, you've been busy this past few weeks. Setting up a good deal for all your miner friends?" asked Elya.

"God, I hope so." sighed Grantz as they shared their usual table at their favorite bar. "Either way, the meeting to finalize will be next week. The miners have already got the first shipment ready."

"I hope you took my advice and insisted on people who can actually make decisions."

"I've been assured they are. One set will be coming from the west, another due east. That's all I'll say though. You shouldn't get involved in this."

"Oh, I don't know, I think it is interesting to know a real life mastermind. How much will you make out of all this?"

Grantz' only response was a repressive look. Elya raised her hands in surrender and didn't bring up the topic again. After all, she had no interest in whatever shady deal Grantz had put together in his misguided attempt to help the natives. Elya already knew Koenig had been in the city, and now she knew the timeline for when some more people who hopefully had contact with Degurechaff would be showing up, and that was enough.

* * *

**June 30, 1929, Kolowesi, Imperial Congo**

"We're in," declared Jenny smugly.

"Great. Another shady deal," grumbled Samantha.

"Well, we're only there as observers, Cold Steel's man will be the one to OK everything. Our job is to sit there and look pretty."

Mary studied Jenny. The girl really looked pleased. That meant this meeting was the sort of thing she'd been angling for. Which in turn meant someone likely to show up to this meeting for some kind of grey mining deal was the person Jenny was tracking. Mary was starting to wonder if Jenny's appearance and search had anything to do with Degurechaff at all, or if it was some other variety of corporate intrigue. Well, there was no point in speculating now. They'd be in Elisabethstadt in a couple of days, and then they'd see.

* * *

**July 2, 1929, Elisabethstadt, Imperial Congo**

I hated to admit I was running away from anything, but I was secretly pleased at the sudden request to send a decision-maker to attend a meeting with some native mining cooperative. I could have simply let the Black Diamond's CEO handle it, but I needed an excuse to call my competition with Visha to a halt.

Looking back, I could only be thankful that the naturally rainy weather meant we were only out sunning perhaps one day in three. Otherwise this little friendly competition really might have crossed the bounds of propriety. Thankfully, I had Emilie there to serve as a barometer. She stayed out of it, seemingly content to enjoy our efforts without contributing except to encourage us. Emilie was fairly straight laced in her personal life, so as long as she stayed approving and appreciative, I knew our actions were within the realm of friendship.

I had to admit, though, I never realized just how physically intimate women could be among friends. Perhaps not surprising, I never had the opportunity for much 'girl time' before this. It was a good thing I had my meditative exercises though. There was no other way I could have maintained an even keel through the entire experience. As it is, abusing that technique allowed me to get ahead in our little game, if one kept score by the number of pleased noises I was able to extract from Visha's lips.

If I had known what was awaiting me in Elisabethstadt, I wouldn't have budged a muscle from Tanganyika's shores.

When Visha and I hit town, we were back in our guise as Elsa and Anna Eckhardt. Emilie was in her African safari guise as well. As far as I knew, those identities were still above suspicion. We rented rooms at a hotel, then we set about scoping out the settlement for any sign of an ambush. In particular, I looked for any sign the local aerial mage garrison was on alert, but they seemed to be in the same state of readiness as the last time I'd passed through.

Emilie had gone ahead to stake out the meeting place, and Visha and I were taking a walk around town, when the first sign of trouble reared its head. Visha happened to make eye contact with a passing redhead, and then they both froze.

"Elya?" Visha's soft whisper was clearly audible to the woman, and she replied in an equally soft and awestruck tone, "Visha?" Then this Elya looked at me, and her eyes widened. "Is this..."

"Don't say it!" whispered Visha. "Elya, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Would you believe, looking for you?"

"How did you know I'd be here?" This was a question I was eager to hear answered as well, especially since I had finally placed the name 'Elya' as being Visha's contact in Interpol.

"I knew Koenig had been in town, and I figured there was a chance you'd show. Didn't expect to run into you in the street though." Elya glanced around. "Look Visha, you're the one I want to talk to. There's a restaurant that's pretty empty this time of day, how about we have our talk and - "

"If you want privacy I can give it," I cut her off. "But Visha doesn't leave my sight."

At Visha's confirming nod, Elya sighed and agreed. The restaurant in question was a hole in the wall that was actually within sight of the meeting place for the business deal, and I could feel myself growing paranoid about exactly how much Interpol knew about my doings. So worried was I that it actually took a moment for me to register what I was seeing.

Sitting at the only occupied table was Red Jenny, more recently Jenny Brown. One of the first new allies, and dare I say friends, I'd made as a fugitive. A girl who should, at this very moment, be safe and sound in New York under Lena's care and enjoying her summer vacation like every other teenager. She was accompanied by Samantha Young, one of my first recruits for Velvet Iron Protection, and some brown haired girl I didn't recognize, but I barely noticed them, so flabbergasted was I by Jenny's presence.

That was when things started to go wrong. With a burst of magic, Visha had cast aside her disguise, pulled up a mage shell, and had her pistol jammed into the back of Elya's neck. "What the fuck is Sioux doing here?!" came Visha's furious hiss.

I blame the repeated shocks for my poor performance, not that incompetence is ever acceptable. I'd reflexively pulled up my shell and started drawing my own pistol, but I was still looking at Visha and trying to figure things out instead of immediately securing the area. Which was why I didn't see the brown-haired girl turn into a magic-enhanced missile as she leaped twenty feet to hammer into me like a wrecking ball.

Both our mage shells cracked at the force of impact, and my gun went flying. The thrust from her flight spell slammed me into the ground with the girl on top. I immediately brought up a second skintight mage shell. But instead of expanding it to force her off me, I stopped.

This was not because of the Colt M1911 pointed at my head. I had a mage shell up, after all. I froze because I could feel the power in the explosive spell that the lunatic on top of me was channeling into her loaded round.

I could see the gleam of triumph in this Sioux girl's eyes. "Tanya von Degurechaff. You are wanted as an international fugitive. As an officer of Interpol, I hereby place you under arrest!"


	25. Chapter 25

_Fic recos: "Arrogant Young Master Tamplate A Variation 4", the first xianxia novel I've truly enjoyed (just google it)._

_Also, another fic where Tanya is now Mad Eye Moody, "Inheriting the Mantle", here on FF: s/13476937/1/Inheriting-the-Mantle_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 25**

**July 2, 1929, Elisabethstadt, Imperial Congo**

This was bad. This was very bad. I wasn't so worried about the explosive spell, per se. I was fairly confident in my ability to withstand the blast. What I was worried about was the passive magic detection array that the Empire had established on the Rhodesian border only a short distance from Elisabethstadt. The city as a whole was well within detection range, and unless the operators were sleeping on the job, they would have noticed us the second Visha had powered up her defensive shell.

Now, a few defensive spells was hardly cause for panic, and if they were sloppy they might have mistaken us for the aerial mage garrison. But then this idiot had to go and power up an explosive round. That would have set the alarms ringing for sure. If I was lucky, the scanner outpost would have to first contact the city garrison, then pinpoint our location, and it might be as much as ten minutes before the local mages put in an appearance. If I was unlucky - and my current situation suggested my luck was definitely having an off day - members of the local mage garrison had been close enough to physically sense our magic use, and response time would be measured in seconds.

I could feel my entire world slow down as I overclocked by reflexes to give myself time to think. Fighting wasn't an option, if she pulled that trigger then even if I lived every Imperial soldier within miles would know my location. Stalling wasn't an option, an investigative force would be arriving shortly. And then I saw something that only added to my urgency.

Jenny and Samantha had got over their surprise, and were readying their own weapons. Seeing their furious gazes aimed at Sioux, I felt a small flicker of relief that they had not betrayed me. That relief was drowned out by anxiety. Sure, they would make a fine distraction for me if they were to attack Sioux. They would also not survive more than a second against a combat mage. And I'd wasted too much time and resources on those two to let them get killed for so little gain.

I had no choice, my absolutely first priority had to be to prevent that explosive spell from detonating. And the best way to do that would be for Sioux to power it down voluntarily.

"Everyone stop." I kept my voice casual, but my eyes were locked on Samantha and Jenny. Thankfully, they froze, their guns ready but not quite pointed at Sioux.

"Be quiet!" snarled Sioux.

"Just making sure no one does anything stupid. Like setting off an explosive spell less than twenty feet from civilians."

Sioux froze, her anger draining away as she glanced at the bartender who was standing paralyzed. I idly noted that this must have been a peaceful town if the bartender's first instinct hadn't been to duck behind the barricade.

After a moment, I felt the spell change. In a rush of mana, Sioux overrode her previous enchantment, replacing the explosive spell with a disruption spell. That took a commendable amount of power and skill, but my opinion of her was still pretty low. At point blank range a disruption spell should have been her first choice, as it was far more likely to break my shield than an explosion.

And, of course, that momentary distraction was exactly what I was waiting for.

I threw every joule of power the M27 could handle into magical thrust, vectored straight up. I might have been lying on my back, but magic doesn't care about positioning. The sudden acceleration threw Sioux forward, allowing me to pin her gun hand to my side. She got off a single shot that missed me entirely, then we both smashed into the iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling at something around a hundred kilometers per hour.

Our mage shells protected us from the impact, but Sioux hadn't been expecting it. In her momentary disorientation, I used the grip I had on her gun arm as a pivot for my flight spell, flipping us until she was beneath me, then accelerating us back to the ground. Sioux recovered enough to try and use her own flight, but that simply meant we hit the wooden floor hard enough to crack it instead of cratering it.

This time, both our mage shells collapsed. I could feel every bone complaining, and Sioux had to be worse. But she was a powerful mage, it was fully within her ability to turn the tables on me yet. So I did something different. I cast a massive disruption effect, centered on the Interpol agent.

Disruption spells were somewhat uncommon among aerial mages. While they were the single best way of penetrating a mage shell, they were also impossible to combine with other types of magic. In the high speed world of aerial combat, a homing/explosive spell combination was a far more reliable mage killer than an unguided disruption round. You couldn't even use it in close combat, as trying to channel a disruption effect into a bayonet was risking it interfering with your flight or reinforcement.

In this case though, I simply wanted Sioux to stay put. The disruption shut down all her spells. It did the same for me, but I was the one sitting on top. Given a few seconds, she might have been able to power her way out of it. I wasn't going to let her. Still using one hand to pin her gun arm, I held out my other in the direction of Jenny and Samantha. "Gun!" I snapped.

I was gratified to have a pistol immediately placed into my open palm. Sioux used that moment to land a painful punch to my gut, so I perhaps took a bit more pleasure than was strictly professional in slapping her across the face with the pistol. That settled her long enough for me to line up a shot with her head. "Don't. Move."

She stilled, even though her eyes burned with hate. They put me uncomfortably in mind of a certain lunatic Entente mage I'd run into a couple of times, and I had to fight the urge to pull the trigger. Unfortunately for me, I was not quite ready to kill a policewoman doing her job. Not unless it really was a matter of life and death.

"Young. Her orb. Get it. Visha, same."

Samantha tossed her Thompson to Jenny before sliding to the ground next to Sioux. It took her only a moment to snatch out Sioux' orb from within her shirt, grabbing her gun at the same time. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Elya surrendering her own orb to Visha without a struggle. "Check for spares!" I snapped. I was taking no chances. A few seconds of manhandling revealed neither of them carried extra orbs, and they were soon divested of weapons as well as magic.

Once Sioux was disarmed I got to my feet, only to let out a hiss as pain flared up from my abdomen. _Just how hard did Sioux hit me?_ I glanced down._.. oh_. She hadn't punched me. She'd stabbed me with a pocket knife. Another sloppy mistake from me. Just because her combat knife was pinned beneath her, I'd assumed she lacked close quarters weapons. Well, it was too small a blade to be called a proper weapon, but still. Hadn't I personally demonstrated a mage could turn anything lethal?

I could feel the mood in the room plummet as my allies noticed my injury. Before one of them did something I would regret, I spoke with as much authority as I could muster. "We move. Now. No more heroics Ms. Sioux, before letting you live becomes more trouble than it's worth."

"Major, you are inj-"

"Later, Visha. It's not serious." That was a lie, I had no idea how serious it was. But as the blood stain was growing slowly, I could hope nothing vital had been hit. In the meantime, I was still mentally counting down the seconds until the Imperial mages showed. I grabbed Sioux by the back of the neck and shoved her towards the back entrance. "We move. Agent Young, pay off the bar and cover us."

By this time, I'd ended my disruption spell, and switched to a reflex/sensory enhancement to watch out for more trouble. Which is why, as we neared the exit, I clearly understood the words Sioux started to mumble. "O God in Heaven, hear my..."

My encounters with Being X had already turned my feelings toward prayer from indifference to loathing. However, when an enemy mage starts to pray to that so-called deity, I tend to get very, very nervous. In this case, I moved without even thinking about it. My hand gripped Sioux' head, and slammed her head-first into the door jamb. With my enhanced strength that strike should have easily concussed her, but I could feel her magic rise to protect her from the worst of it. She was still conscious, and her lips were still stumbling through the prayer.

I could have shot her. I should have shot her, seeing how much damage one Being X's pawns could do. But I still had some of that instinctive respect for the law that had followed me over from my past life. So instead of pulling the trigger I cranked up my physical reinforcement to the absolute maximum, wrapped one hand around her throat and placed the other behind her neck, and squeezed.

That hit to the head must have done something, because she didn't start to resist until I'd gotten the sleeper hold locked in. And by then it was too late. The choke cut off the prayer and the growing magic immediately started to ebb. She still had quite a bit in her, enough to power her own reinforcement, but I had her pinned. Not that she made it easy, during her struggles she managed to wrench the knife in my gut. Even through the reinforcement spell the pain was breathtaking, and she came within a hair of getting loose. That's when Jenny joined the fray, leaping on Sioux' legs and hindering her attempts to escape. I wanted to yell at her to get away, that one reinforced kick might snap her neck, but I was too busy trying to maintain my hold through the pain. Luckily for all of us, being a divine pawn did nothing for Sioux' mediocre hand to hand skills. In a matter of seconds her struggles ceased as she succumbed to the lack of blood flow to the brain.

I kept up the hold for another five seconds to make sure she was out. Then I pulled the knife out - since the struggle had already opened the wound wider - and studied the growing patch of blood on my shirt. Yes, it was definitely bleeding more. I channeled what little healing magic I knew into the wound to slow down the blood flow and ignored the others' worried queries about my health. My mind was focused on what to do with Sioux.

Killing her was the simplest option. While I still had qualms about murdering a police officer, I was ultimately a criminal wanted for capital crimes, and if Being X was trying to interfere, it meant any of these two prisoners could at any time turn into a magical juggernaut. However, killing Sioux would also necessitate killing Elya, and I was unsure how Visha would react to killing her friend. Sure, she seemed ready to do it now, but people did things in the heat of the moment that they regretted later. It's why I always strove to act with calm reasoning and logic. Besides, according to Visha, Elya had helped her find and warn me about Interpol, so I needed to know why she suddenly had a change of heart. No, for now at least, I wanted them alive. Which meant convincing them of the inadvisability of further resistance.

Reaching a decision, I took hold of Sioux's arms. First with one twist then another, I dislocated both her shoulders. That should at least slow her down. Everyone in the room stiffened at the sound of bones popping out sockets. Sighing in tiredness I turned around. "Tell me... Elya, was it? Do you feel like trying something as well?"

A quick headshake was good enough for me. We'd already wasted enough time. Samantha had caught up with us and it was time to go. My reinforcement allowed me to carry Sioux without much difficulty, and as she regained consciousness I kept one hand on her neck to choke her off at the first sign of prayer. Fortunately, the pain from her arms seemed to take the fight out of her for now.

We had to get off the street, and I was not interested in trying to sneak our prisoners into our hotel. Good thing Elisabethstadt was an industrial town. Plenty of homes and apartments stood empty during the working day, and breaking into one presented minimal difficulty when you could magically pick locks.

As soon as we were off the street, Visha started in on me. "Major, you need a medic..."

"Not yet. I've slowed the bleeding, and the wound's only a couple of inches deep. We can take care of it later. For now, the kitchen's yours Visha. Why don't you have that talk with your friend. I'll speak to Sioux in the bedroom." Splitting up prisoners was basic interrogation protocol.

"All right Major. But be careful. Sioux hates you. Apparently you killed her father."

"Really?" I glanced at the furious eyes of the girl. "Huh. Small world. Young, with me, I need someone to bandage me up."

Looking around, my eyes landed on Jenny. Right, there was a very long conversation I needed have. One more thing on the list. "We'll speak later," I said to her. "For now, why don't you keep lookout."

"Like old times, huh?" muttered Jenny, but she headed for the door. On the way out though, she stopped and looked at me for a long moment. "You know, I think this is the first time you've ever shown me your real face."

I blinked and realized I'd yet to restore my disguise. Neither had Visha. Before I could come up with a reply, Jenny was gone. I did note she hadn't envisioned any surprise. That's another thing I'd have to ask her about. I hated feeling ignorant, and yet it was clear I'd missed a LOT of things lately. Like the fact that Samantha Young didn't seem bothered about taking orders from me either, even though she should only ever have known me as Jennifer Ecks.

Once we got to the house's tiny bedroom, I tossed Sioux on the thin mattress. The young woman groaned in pain as the movement jostled her dislocated arms. As she closed her eyes and hyperventilated, trying to get the pain under control, I took off my own shirt so Young could start wrapping bandages around the wound.

After a moment Sioux' eyes fluttered open and she looked at me, her eyes immediately sharpening to a furious glare. Well, at least she seemed lucid.

"You've put me in a bind, Miss Sioux. Logic dictates the simplest solution is to disappear both you and Miss Roth. Not only do you know far too much about me, but you also came very close to hurting innocents with your recklessness. Alas, I am not quite comfortable with murder. I suppose I'm looking for a reason not to kill you. Do you have anything to say to help me make up my mind?"

She scoffed. "The Butcher of Arenne, shy to murder? What kind of sick joke is that?"

I sighed. "If you are from Interpol, you will have read my file. You know what my response is to that particular accusation, as well as any other accusation you care to make regarding my wartime activities. So I will not waste my breath. Do you have anything new to say?"

"Yes. You should surrender. At least you will get a fair trial. Unlike what would happen if your countrymen got their hands on you."

"So I can spend the rest of my life in a jail cell or a padded room? Besides, the Imperials aren't even close. The last time they tried..." I trailed off for a moment, my tired brain finally adding up two and two. "You weren't going by the name Madelaine Smith, were you?"

The way she twitched told me I'd guessed right. I couldn't help the laugh that broke free. "Oh dear, I actually heard about that mess in Colombia. You know, I actually felt bad about the Empire almost killing you? You have my sympathy."

"Very funny. How long do you think you can keep running like this?"

"Oh, I think I'm in it for the long haul."

"Not much longer. People are noticing." Her eyes narrowed at me. "It's only a matter of time before we figure out your sponsor, and then all these corporations whose skirts you hide behind will drop you like a hot rock."

I couldn't help but stare in shock. My sponsor? The fact that she was here with Jenny and Samantha meant Interpol had at least figured out my link to Velvet Iron Protection, but what sponsor? Was she talking about Lena?

Sioux smiled triumphantly at my surprise. "Oh don't look so surprised. There's no way you could have accomplished everything you have without backing of some kind. Interpol knows this. Sooner or later we will figure out who it is, at which point all your support is going to dry up. However, if you do come in willingly, you might be able to negotiate leniency in exchange for giving up the traitors supporting you."

"It's only treason if you're working against the government." I corrected her absently. After all, in all my dealings neither I nor my clients had ever acted directly against their respective states. In Colombia my employer was the state.

Sioux made a complicated face at my correction, but I didn't care. I was too busy turning over the idea that I apparently had some kind of mysterious sponsor. In the end, while I'd like to encourage this misconception, I couldn't see any way to do it without further scrutiny being drawn to my corporate sources of income. I had to find some way to deflect. So I said, "I feel as if I have been insulted. I am one of the best mages in the world. You really think there is such a shortage of people willing to hire me that I have to rely on the charity of a sponsor?"

"So what, you are just being generously compensated for services rendered?"

"Of course. I earn my keep. Though you will understand if I don't discuss the details." Let her think I was some kind of mercenary. After all, for Velvet Iron and others I had primarily acted as a security specialist. At least I now had a reason to keep this one alive, it was better for me that Sioux go back to her masters with the suggestion that I was a free agent. It was even true, in a way.

"So first in America, then Colombia, and now Africa, you're just going where the money is?"

"Indeed."

"So much for patriotism, huh?"

"I spent years being a patriot. It only earned me condemnation. So I decided to try being a bit less exclusive with my services."

I was willing to answer more questions, but Sioux just seemed to content herself with glaring at me while thinking furiously. Good, let her think. I didn't know how invested Interpol was in this theory of a sponsor, but having their field agent report otherwise could only help muddy the waters. As the Albish like to say, confusion to my enemies.

* * *

The conundrum of the Interpol agents eventually solved itself. Visha had filled me in on her conversation with her friend Elya Roth. Apparently, Elya was not involved with Sioux. She claimed that she'd located us completely independently, and was only here to reaffirm that I wasn't acting against the Empire. Apparently my involvement with an American orb maker had made Elya worried that I might be giving up the secrets of quad-core tech, which was more than what she was willing to tolerate in the name of friendship to Visha.

It certainly sounded plausible for a motive as to why she had pursued us, but only an idiot would believe she wasn't coordinating with Sioux. The idea that two completely separate Interpol investigations would catch up with me at the same place and time strained the bounds of coincidence. Elya probably just didn't want to seem as implacably hostile as Sioux.

Still, what Visha had told her had actually dovetailed neatly to what I'd been trying to convince Sioux of. Visha had adamantly defended my honor, assuring Elya that I'd only ever worked with the Americans on single core orbs and that I had never gone directly against the Empire. I had no trouble confirming both statements to Elya while further hinting that I was simply moving around trying to make a living.

The more I thought about it, the more dangerous this idea of a sponsor was. It might just lead them to my Jasmine Smith identity, and that would be a disaster. Best to release them both back in to the wild after impressing them with my independence.

Of course, that didn't mean I was going to release them right away. I still had this business deal that I ought to see through. So I had Emilie source some sedatives, and now she and Samantha were keeping watch on the pair of sleeping beauties until it was time for us to decamp. Koenig had also managed to get in touch with me, and told me the city's mages had investigated the magical disturbance we had caused, but the bartender had proven less than helpful and now they were on alert but didn't seem to know any details. I guess Samantha had given the bartender enough money after all. I'd even gotten a doctor to take a look at my wound and stitch it up properly.

With the immediate emergencies taken care of and the meeting a couple of hours away, I finally had time for that conversation I'd promised myself with Jenny. It did not go the way I had expected.

* * *

I stared at Jenny in horror. _Just how much trouble can one teenage girl get into?_

Drug smuggling! Gun running! General hooliganism! It was as if she was bound and determined to take Murdoch as a role model - which in retrospect only made sense as that gangster had been someone she had looked up to during a very impressionable time of her life.

No, I'd always suspected she'd turn into quite the hellion in her teenage years in spite of Lena's best efforts. Of course, what I hadn't expected was for Lena to throw up her hands and buy Jenny a ticket to Africa so she could annoy me instead. Visha would later observe with much amusement it was like a frazzled mother ordering an unruly child to report to her father for punishment.

This was, of course, absurd. Lena might have adopted her, but she was too young to be anything other than an older sister to Jenny, and I was not even that. Still, my army experience had taught me quite a bit about discipline. By the time I was done chewing her out, Jenny knew just how badly she'd screwed up. I left her in no doubt that the rest of her summer vacation was going to be a most educational form of hell.

While Jenny pondered her life decisions in her room, I turned my attention to the real source of my shock and indignation. It seemed, in spite of my efforts to the contrary, I was now truly an international criminal.

_How did it come to this?!_

According to Jenny's confession, she'd managed to get involved in a fake prescription racket in New York through some of Velvet Iron's clients. And the drugs these fake prescriptions were being used for were being supplied by Sunset Botanicals. Two of the companies I had helped found were now helping to set up the Colombian drug smuggling rings that had been so infamous in my past life.

But Sunset and Velvet Iron could at least pretend ignorance of what their clients were up to. That was not the case for Cold Steel. They were directly and unashamedly involved in flouting the Kaiser's edicts on firearms in the Congo, and had even roped in a sixteen year old girl to help smuggle the goods into the middle of a war zone!

For a moment I tried to console myself that at least Household Magicks was running a clean operation. Then I remembered that 'Madelaine Smith' had infiltrated them to locate me. Which meant my one legal operation was also the one under closest scrutiny from law enforcement. While also being closely associated with the Mayor of Jersey City, who was the definition of a crooked politician.

The worst part was, I could see no way of cleaning them up. With Interpol so close behind me, I'd be going on the run after today. There's no way I could devote the time and attention that would be necessary. And trying to do it at a distance would just likely lead to a revolt from all my executives who were expecting fat bonuses from all the profits they were earning.

I was still reeling from this revelation when the time came for the meeting between Cold Steel, Black Diamond, and the copper miners' representative.

To my extreme shock, that representative was none other than Lieutenant Vooren Grantz. After the example of the late Bergmann I knew that corruption had found its way into the Empire's African garrisons, but I was still disappointed to see the formerly moral Grantz moonlighting on his job. Still, acting as a commodity broker was better than a hired thug. Or so I thought. Now that my suspicions had been aroused, I asked a few probing questions, and the truth came out in short order. This wasn't a legitimate deal at all, but rather an acquisition of illegally mined material.

I felt like crying. Black Diamond was a company in its infancy! Only a few months old! And yet, in one of its first major deals, it was effectively acting as a fence for stolen goods.

For a brief moment, I was tempted to reject this crooked deal. It had never been my intention to be anything other than an honest businesswoman. But then I felt a great frustration welling up in me. What did it matter, in the end? It was clear that in this world controlled by Being X, I was never going to have a peaceful life just relying on the system. I followed all the rules in the army, and ended up a wanted war criminal. Now my attempts at finding an honest trade had been corrupted to this illegal mess.

Then another thought struck me. Did it really matter if my companies all ended up crooked? After all, compared to what I was already accused of, a little theft and smuggling hardly mattered. And since I was so distantly involved, any court would have a hellish time proving my guilt. If Lena and Vargas and all the rest were willing to risk their necks to put more money in all our pockets? Well, they were adults. It was their decision. My conscience was clean.

I felt a serene peace come over me. Truly, all I had to do was frame the problem correctly, and the solution became self-evident. Even for this deal, I was simply here to negotiate the final details. The deal itself was already approved by their respective CEOs, and any guilt was on their heads. I no longer hesitated to give my approval.

With that last detail taken care of, it was time to disappear. Whatever happened with my companies, I was determined to find the peaceful life I had been chasing. And I knew just where to find it, at least for a little while.

* * *

**July 4, 1929, Elisabethstadt, Imperial Congo**

Elya sat down blearily next to the bed. Being forced to take sedatives by amateurs had left her with a splitting headache. Even now, a full day after regaining consciousness, she was still feeling the after-effects. At least she was better off than Mary, who had both the hangover and both shoulders dislocated. Lying on the bed, the injured girl had been brooding ever since she regained consciousness.

"How are the bandages holding up?"

Mary made a noise that might have been positive.

Elya sighed. "Stop brooding. You actually got close to the right person. That's better than anything anyone else has managed."

"I should have just shot her when I had the chance."

"We don't have a kill on sight on her yet. In fact, Interpol can never shoot on suspects unless accompanied and permitted by local law enforcement. You did the right thing, Mary."

"What good is the right thing if it lets her get away?!"

"Well, for starters, the two of us are still alive. Or do you think Serebryakov would have let either of us live if you had succeeded?"

"You didn't even try to fight!"

"Because it wouldn't have worked. I'm not a combat mage, not really. And neither are you."

"What? Yes I am!"

"You're trained as one. But tell me Mary, exactly how many people have you actually killed in a fight?"

"Well... I've fought enemy mages."

"Good for you. I haven't."

Mary stared at Elya for a second. "But... you're a front line veteran!"

"Yes. As an artillery spotter. Anytime an enemy mage took a shot at me, I'd fly fast in the other direction and leave him to the actual combat mages. And even that was just for a few months. Then I was reassigned to Intelligence, and haven't fired a shot in anger since. Face it Mary, neither of us are capable of actually arresting her without all the garrison there to back us up - and I've told you what the garrison's like in this town. More likely to shoot us than them."

Mary fumed silently for a while, then spoke again. "Did you get the alert out?"

"Sure. For what good it will do. Degurechaff got out of Londinium with no money or weapons. Now she has both plus allies. I'm not holding my breath."

The silence was now a bit more companionable. Then Elya brought up something Mary had mentioned shortly after they woke up, "You really think Degurechaff is being backed by someone in the Imperial government... but not the Emperor?"

Mary eyed Elya warily. "You don't seem all that upset."

"Well, I certainly don't believe that she's done everything she has just to try and make a living. For starters, that's a plot twist from her movie," replied Elya, lips twitching. "But... an Imperial faction? I didn't get anything like that from her."

Mary frowned. "It would explain the ruckus she's started in the Congo. Plus, there was one thing she said."

"Oh?"

"Most of the time, she was careful to say the same thing she told you. But there was one point where she seemed a bit more unguarded. Where instead of carefully picking her words, she just blurted them out. It was when I called her sponsor a traitor, and she replied that 'it's only treason to work against the government'."

Elya nodded. "I see. That's just speculation though, and very tenuous."

"You think I don't know that? But I'm not going to stop looking. I will find out the truth."

"I'll admit to some curiosity as well. So, I take it we're joining back up with Captain Strong after you heal? At least the Captain will be relieved to see us both in one piece. Whether he'll still be relieved when you tell him your theory..."

"He'll get over it," was Mary's swift response.


	26. Chapter 26

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

_A\N: 150k words! Thank you to my readers, reviewers, and especially my Patrons!_

**Chapter 26**

**July 27, 1929, Ila Rouge, Seychelles, The Commonwealth**

John Purdue considered himself a healer first and a man of God second. And since the Good Book highly recommended charity towards one's fellow man, after obtaining his medical degree he had sought service in charitable organizations, bringing the benefit of professional medical care to those who would otherwise be left bereft. For thirty years he had traveled the world offering his medical services wherever he felt it would be the most needed. He had treated cholera among the poor of Londinium in the 1890s, the smallpox victims of the Punjab in the 1900s, and the malaria victims in Africa in the 1910s. Through the years of the European War, he'd helped run an emergency clinic for war refugees, and later joined the fight against the flu epidemic that sprung up in the Low Countries in '25. In that time he'd considered marriage but never pursued it, instead dedicating his life to his patients.

It was in late 1926 that he took what he felt would be his final assignment - chief (and only) physician to the lepers of Ila Rouge. The island had been a leper colony for going on a hundred years when Dr. Purdue, just past the age of sixty, took his post.

The small island was a natural paradise, warm weather all year round, beautiful forests, pristine waters, and gorgeous red sandy beaches that gave the island its name. It was, however, not very conducive to human life, lacking any source of fresh water outside the regular tropical rains. The people who made the isle their home suffered from a variety of disfiguring ailments, from the benign (if unsightly) to the crippling. Dr. Purdue himself was the only permanent staff. He was aided in his work by volunteers from the nearby populated islands, and when necessary the healthier patients would take up the slack. A regular ferry would supply the island with medicine, rations and fresh water.

Purdue would admit that his responsibilities rarely exceeded those of a general practitioner. The diseases most of his patients suffered from were effectively incurable, and his work mostly came down to treating everyday injuries and ailments. However, Purdue felt he served a far greater purpose in his unofficial role as the island's confessor and chaplain. While the island did have a priest coming by every Sunday for services, it was Purdue who was there for the patients 24/7. Most of them had lived normal lives before fate had sent them to exile on this red island. Despair, depression, and violent outbursts were painfully common, particularly among newcomers. It was he who gave them a shoulder to cry on, and helped them come to terms with their new life.

Right now though, Purdue was feeling rather optimistic about the future. While he would never wish the fate of a leper on anyone, the fact remained that a significant portion of the colony's budget was covered by contributions from the patients' families. And with their latest patient, they seemed to have hit the jackpot.

The first inkling of the changes had been when a new boat had showed up at the pier, loaded down with workers. These workers had immediately fenced off a portion of the island and gotten to setting up a proper bungalow that was as far from the main settlement as one could get. On questioning what was happening, Purdue had learned that apparently the daughter of some rich industrialist had come down with a case of leprosy, and the girl's distraught father was paying to ensure his daughter's exile would be a comfortable one.

The house, when finished, was almost on par with the Seychelles Governor's mansion on Mahe. More importantly for the colony, this gentleman was also donating the resources to modernize the entire island. There would be a desalination plant for drinking water, telegraph and radio connections, a coal-fired generator to power the aforementioned facilities and electrify the island as a whole, as well as an expanded pier to serve as a dock for a seaplane. All this was accompanied by a generous cash donation to the leprosarium itself.

Now, John Purdue was waiting by the newly expanded pier, watching a recent-model seaplane taxi to a halt. Once the seaplane had moored, the passengers stepped out.

The first woman out was a stern looking European beauty in her mid-twenties, black of hair and eye and about five and a half feet tall. She was dressed in sensible looking clothes of ordinary quality, and Purdue suspected her to be some kind of domestic. Sure enough, after looking around for a moment, she reached into the vessel and gently helped out what had to be the patient. She was a tiny thing, a little over five feet and slim of figure. Her clothes held to a cream and grey theme and were of excellent quality, but every inch of her skin was covered by long sleeves, gloves, hat, and scarf. Red curls peeked out from under the hat, and her eyes were a pale blue. From the free way she moved, Purdue immediately understood that she was one of the lucky souls whose condition was almost entirely cosmetic in nature. She was followed by a third woman, this time a pretty girl of around sixteen, some inches taller with red hair and brown eyes, dimpled cheeks and freckles. This girl had a devil-may-care glint in her eye that went all too well with the fiery shade of her hair.

After stepping out, it was the covered lady who took the lead to approach him. "Dr. Purdue, I presume? A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Teresa May Thompson. I will be joining your little community for the foreseeable future."

She did not offer a hand, but her voice was warm, friendly, and remarkably unaccented, with just a hint of uncertainty. In fact, if it hadn't been for the full-body covering, Purdue would have immediately accepted her as a demure and well brought up young woman trying to make the best of her difficult situation. However, thanks to the concealing clothes, Purdue had instinctively focused on her eyes. The icy blue eyes peering out from under the hat had rendered him momentarily frozen. They seemed to pierce right through him, before moving on to scan the surroundings. There was something utterly unfeeling in that gaze that put Purdue uncomfortably in mind of the occasional sharks that came close to the island.

After a quick look around, that cold gaze focused back on him, even as the voice continued to be full of warmth of good feeling. "The lady to my left is Gretel Richter, my personal assistant and also my friend, who has done me the honor of staying by my side during this trying time." The black haired woman smiled and extended her hand for a firm handshake. Purdue found himself liking this woman greatly, especially since her eyes had the warmth so missing from her companion. Thompson continued her introductions, now pointing to the teenager, "And this hellion is my cousin June Thompson. She's decided to spend the rest of her summer vacation getting me settled in here. I apologize in advance for any trouble she may cause."

June strode forward to shake his hand enthusiastically. "Aw, don't listen to her, doc. Teresa's just a bit down that she has to be stuck here... no offense. But she used to be quite the hellraiser herself, back in the day." she said with a faint but unmistakable Irish lilt.

"June." came the repressive reply from Teresa. Yet, Purdue noticed that those ice cold eyes briefly grew a trifle warmer. _Maybe she just doesn't deal well with strangers?_ wondered the doctor.

Turning back to him, Teresa said, "While it is good of you to meet us, doctor, I hope you will not take it the wrong way if I say I don't expect to see you very often. While hideous, my condition is only skin deep, and I am otherwise in excellent health. My primary physician has already provided me with a course of treatment, and Gretel is trained to see to all my needs. I generally preferred to keep to myself even before my illness, so I doubt you'll be seeing much of me."

"I quite understand, Ms. Thompson, some of my patients prefer to remain solitary as well. Still, may I ask after your symptoms? I like to think I have some experience in such matters, and I may have some insights to offer."

"Of course. In fact," Teresa accepted a folder that Gretel dug out of a valise and passed it on to him. "This folder contains my full medical history. While I don't expect to need your services, emergencies can happen."

"Thank you Ms. Thompson. And while I understand the urge to hide away from the world, might I suggest you take the time to look around your new home? It may be small, but I have traveled a lot in my time, and this is by far one of the most beautiful locations I have ever encountered. God willing, I plan to make this place my retirement home."

Teresa Thompson gave him a slight nod. "Thank you, doctor. I shall certainly take it under advisement. But for now, I feel the need for solitude, maybe try and make sense of how everything came to this point."

By this time, the seaplane's pilot and engineer had finished unloading the ladies' luggage. Now the five of them made their way towards the new house at the foot of the small hill that dominated the island. As John Purdue watched them leave, he felt fade the last of his doubts about the enigmatic Teresa May Thompson. No matter how cold her gaze, there had been a note of sincerity in her last statement. The doctor was left with an image of a proud young beauty struck down by a disfiguring illness in the prime of her life, now struggling to make sense of a world that had changed so irrevocably. John could only sigh in sympathy. "No wonder she seems so frozen inside," he muttered sadly. "It's probably all the poor girl can do not to lash out or break down."

The doctor pondered for a moment how he might best help her. Given everything else, she probably got the best medical advice money could buy, so he doubted he'd be able to contribute anything by studying her medical file. However, in his own dark moments the doctor had always found solace in religion, as had many of his patients. "Tomorrow's a bit too soon, I'll give them some time to get settled in. But I think I'll go down next week and invite them to next Sunday's service. Faith can get someone through even the worst of times."

The doctor knew that the knowledge that God was still watching over them was a great comfort to many of his patients. After all, was not Lazarus one of His saints? Once she'd had a chance to get settled in, he was sure Ms. Thompson would appreciate the reminder.

* * *

**July 30, 1929, Berun Military HQ, The Empire**

Zettour considered the briefing papers in front of him. Around the meeting table were... well, he'd call them political allies. Uncharitable souls might call them co-conspirators. They were few in number. His first and oldest ally Rudersdorf, the 'grand old man' of the Imperial Navy Admiral Tirpitz, the very wealthy and connected Baron Johann von Spritzen, and finally Max von Bulow, the Secretary of Commerce. The five of them represented the new up-and-coming bloc in Imperial politics, with Zettour as their nominal leader.

There were, of course, many other supporters to their cause, scattered among the nobility, the military, and the civilian government. But it was the five of them that wielded the most influence. All of them were united by one common thread - a belief that the Emperor's power needed to be checked.

In times past, while the Emperor might possess absolute power, it was generally understood that he would not wield that power without at least consulting his ministers and generals... and if he was feeling particularly democratic, the Reichstag as well. This gentleman's agreement had served the Empire well since its founding, allowing the various political groups to make their voices heard while enabling rapid decision making in times of crisis. However, the fact remained that the Emperor was an absolute monarch, with all the power that implied. It had never bothered Zettour before, but now as the Empire struggled in the aftermath of the single greatest war it had ever fought, the downsides of their current system of government became apparent.

Truth be told, if anyone had told him winning a war could be dangerous for a country, Zettour would have thought them mad. And yet, that was what was happening. The Kaiser's political credibility had taken a serious hit when he surrendered Major Degurechaff to the war tribunal. In response, the Kaiser had not only removed all the austerity measures that had been put in place during the war, but then had proceeded to fund a slew of public projects, celebrations, and subsidies, all to reassure the populace that the benefits were well worth the cost of one disobedient soldier. And frustratingly, for a time it had worked. While a few stubborn souls continued to protest the betrayal, most of the general populace had allowed themselves to be lulled by the newfound largesse. Zettour supposed there was a reason the Roman Emperors had indulged so often in bread and circuses.

Of course, the money for all those projects had to come from somewhere, and the Imperial government was completely tapped. So the Kaiser had stepped in, employing his own personal fortune, in exchange for what amounted to a lease on the newly acquired Congo. The exact legalities were hellishly complex, but what it amounted to was that the Kaiser got a significant amount of control and income from the Congo until the Imperial government could pay him back.

There had been an unpublicized but severe shitstorm in the highest reaches of government as many people questioned the ethics and constitutionality of forcing your own government into debt. But that had been nothing compared to the aftermath. For at the end of the day, both the Kaiser and the civilian government had been banking on one thing to stabilize the massive public debt they were racking up - the reparation payments. Billions of marks promised to them by the Francois Republic and Legadonian Entente as the price for the Empire giving them their countries back. Marks that failed to materialize in anywhere near the promised amounts when the first bill came due.

Oh, the excuses for their failure were myriad. Some of them were even true. But the bottom line was that the Empire was deep in debt, the Kaiser was deep in debt, and suddenly their newly acquired African holdings became the only cash cow the Empire had. Which led directly to today, and the papers Zettour and the others were studying.

It was Bulow, the Secretary of Commerce, who broke the silence. "It's official gentlemen. The Empire is facing an economic and political crisis. And the idiot in the Chancellor's seat has only managed to make things worse."

"That bad, huh?" grumbled Spritzen.

"Yes," came the curt response. "The morality of slavery aside, the brutal measures enacted in the Congo had temporarily succeeded in infusing some much needed cash in the Empire's and the Kaiser's coffers. The rebellion among the plantation workers threatened that income. And now this global recession has hammered the last nail in the coffin. The copper mines are shutting down with the steep drop in demand. While other products still remain profitable, those were two of the big ones. The Imperial African Trading Company is on its last legs, and the Katanga mining corporations aren't much better. And that's before Interpol stuck their noses in."

The cruel treatment of the natives in parts of the Congo had been one of the Empire's dirty little secrets. Only now that dirt had hit the fan with the very highly publicized Interpol investigation. While Interpol had no power to arrest anyone in the Congo, they could and did submit a very detailed report (with photographs) on the myriad of ways that Germanian corporations were violating the Empire's own laws in the treatment of their workers. Their government had done their best to censor and discredit the report, but the Empire had enough freedom of press that more and more people were questioning what exactly the Kaiser was doing in the Congo.

The answer was that the Kaiser had very little to do with the atrocities in the Congo... but he had also turned a blind eye to the works of others as long as the money kept flowing. And now that policy was coming back to bite him. Combined with the Colombian debacle, his personal credibility was plummeting.

And in the middle of all this came a second Interpol report, this one thankfully secret. Tanya von Degurechaff had been spotted in Elisabethstadt. Apart from confirming the sighting of the girl in the Congo, the report had also mentioned circumstantial evidence that Degurechaff was involved in arming the various native rebellions. In fact, the report suggested that Degurechaff had spent months deep in the Congo interior interacting and trading with the natives, and it was a fact that the natives seemed to be getting their hands on a lot of Colombian military surplus gear.

"Speaking of Interpol," spoke up Tirpitz, and Zettour mentally braced himself, "Zettour, can't you keep your little she-devil in check? Yes, embarrassing the Kaiser and Chancellor Siegfried serves our purposes. But her little bout of rabble rousing is putting egg on ALL our faces."

"You act as if I have any control over what Degurechaff does," Zettour replied.

Tirpitz was not so easily put off. "Bah! We all know you're the closest thing the ex-203rd mages have to a patron. Are you telling me it's a coincidence that Degurechaff showed up in the one place where half the mages are her former subordinates? It's one thing to use her to rake up some muck, Zettour. It's quite another to let her spark some kind of native revolt and lose us one of our colonies! And don't tell me I'm exaggerating, we both read the same reports!"

Zettour was tempted to bury his face in his hands. When he had originally mentioned the Congo to Serebryakov, he had done so in the expectation of extending shelter to an impoverished fugitive. And, yes, he had hoped to gain a powerful tool for his own purposes. Then he had heard of Degurechaff's doings in Colombia, and had resigned himself to losing her to a foreign government. Finding out not only was she in the Congo, but exactly what she had been up to, had come as an unpleasant surprise.

Now Zettour was in a quandary. He could admit that he hadn't even known Degurechaff was in the Congo until the Interpol report had hit his desk. A protestation that his allies would either disbelieve and grow angry, or believe and think him a fool. Or he could claim that the Major was going well beyond anything he would have asked of her. In which case he'd be the incompetent who couldn't control one teenage girl. Well, as Bonaparte had declared, 'Always audacity!' So Zettour looked Tirpitz in the eye and said, "Even back in the army, I would never second guess the Major. I gave her an objective, she would find the best way to carry out it. Collateral damage is but an unfortunate side effect of any military operation."

There was some grumbling, but ultimately, none of them really cared about the fate of some black serfs. Yes, a native revolt was embarrassing, but all the colonial powers had faced worse in their time. And in the meantime, the whole thing was affecting the Chancellor much worse than it was them. The rest of the meeting was taken up in strategizing for when the Kaiser would inevitably be forced to dismiss his current Chancellor. The writing was very much on the wall there, now it only remained to ensure that Zettour was at the very top of the list of alternatives.

It was some hours later, and Hans von Zettour was relaxing with a drink alongside his friend Rudersdorf. The older general took a deep pull at his cigar before remarking, "You know, at this point they're pretty much convinced you have Degurechaff in your back pocket. In fact, a significant portion of our support base is comprised of people who think you have the Argent Silver's approval."

"No, really? I hadn't noticed," Zettour deadpanned.

Rudersdorf was not amused. "This time you managed to play off Degurechaff's antics as part of your master plan. What will you do when reports of whatever insanity she does next starts to come in?"

Zettour didn't directly reply. Instead, after a pause he asked, "Do you think I should have let them know I have absolutely no control over that girl? Back when the subject first came up?"

Rudersdorf snorted. "God, no! Your position as the only one who might one day bring her back to the Empire is one of the reasons we have as much support in the military as we do."

Zettour shrugged. "Then all I can do is brace myself for Degurechaff's next masterpiece."

A brooding silence persisted for several minutes. Rudersdorf broke it, saying, "Why do you think she chose to start a native revolt of all things? Revenge against the Kaiser?"

"I wish I knew," muttered Zettour. "I doubt its simple revenge, though. The Major never struck me as one to act on emotion. I would find it more believable if she now considers the Kaiser an enemy, and chose this method to deny her enemy resources."

Rudersdorf laughed. "Maybe she wants her own country. Queen Tanya of the Congo, perhaps?"

"Don't even joke. I have nightmares about waking up with that for a headline."

"You really think she'd try something like that?"

Zettour considered the question before replying, "In the long term, I'm sure Degurechaff knows how unlikely she is to succeed in such a ploy. In the short term, though, I can think of few things more embarrassing for the Empire. I would not put it past her to do such a thing just to make everyone look like a fool."

"And if she does do it?"

"Why do you think I'm bracing myself? Ah, but the energy of youth," came the sardonic reply.

* * *

**August 8, 1929, Lusaka, Rhodesia**

To every appearance, the young woman was enjoying the afternoon breeze on the balcony, with a cup of coffee by her elbow and a book in her lap. And to be fair, she was. But underneath her carefree demeanor Elya Roth was struggling with a problem that had been worrying her since her encounter with the former Major Tanya von Degurechaff, a little over a month ago.

There were several things about that encounter that were undoubtedly worth close consideration. However, each and every time, all Elya could come back to was the cold pistol barrel pressing into the back of her neck, and the knowledge that the woman she considered her best friend in the world was one heartbeat away from killing her.

When this mess had first started, Elya had thought her choice was simple. Tanya von Degurechaff was a hero of the Empire. More importantly, she was someone Visha greatly admired. The war tribunal had clearly been a political ploy for the losing countries to save face by scapegoating a young girl. As a good Imperial, Elya had felt it both her duty and pleasure to aid Visha in helping the Major escape. That Visha had been her best friend had only made the decision easier - Elya had always cared more about people than about rules.

After joining Interpol, it had again been an easy decision to continue passing information to Visha. Whatever good Interpol might end up doing in the future, the team she was part of was dedicated to locating Degurechaff. It was an effort to hunt down an innocent girl and haul her in for a spurious trial, and one Elya didn't have many qualms about sabotaging. Along the way though, she had realized that Visha's feelings for her superior went beyond mere admiration, and closer to an almost religious devotion.

Yes, Elya decided. She had realized just how much Degurechaff meant to Visha. But she hadn't thought through the implications for their own friendship.

Oh, Visha had been deeply and sincerely apologetic once the initial crisis had been dealt with. Elya had even been honest when she had accepted Visha's apologies. They'd had the chance for a long conversation, and the two of them had once more reaffirmed their friendship to one another. None of that changed the fact that when push came to shove, Visha had chosen Degurechaff over her.

Elya took a deep breath to settle herself. It was hard to get past the whole gun-to-the-head thing, but she had to try and be objective. Could she really be upset that she had been demoted on Visha's priority list? No, not really. After all, she would have expected the same if and when Visha got married. God knows she and Degurechaff were as close as any husband-and-wife pair.

So, no, she couldn't blame Visha for her priorities. The real issue was how little hesitation there had been. Visha had been the _first_ to pull a gun. And instead of aiming it at Sioux, she had aimed it at Elya. Tactically it had been the correct choice. But the fact that Visha could make that tactical decision in the face of their friendship... yes, that was really what was sticking in Elya's craw. No matter how much she thought about it, Elya couldn't see herself ever so unhesitatingly drawing on Visha. Did that mean Visha had been lying when she said she still considered Elya her friend? No, Elya didn't think so. Visha had a brilliant poker face, but keeping blank and faking sincerity were two different skill sets. So, did that mean Visha would pull a gun on her friends if circumstances warranted it? That was... Elya blinked as she realized the truth. That very well may be the sort of person Visha had become.

Elya hadn't been lying when she told Sioux that she had fled from every enemy mage she'd encountered during the war. In fact, even now, she did not have a single confirmed kill to her name, mage or mundane. Visha was the exact opposite. For two years, she'd been repeatedly thrown head first into the cruelest, most brutal fighting in the war. And Visha just hadn't survived the experience, she'd thrived.

Except... what did that sort of experience do to a young woman? There was Degurechaff's example, but not even Visha would ever claim that girl was normal. Elya thoughtfully bit her lip as she realized she and Visha had been some of the youngest recruits in the war. There had been a few others of similar age, but like Elya they had almost all been assigned to roles away from direct combat. Some of them might have gotten unlucky and seen fighting anyway, but not like Visha. Elya couldn't verify it right now, but she was fairly certain Visha and Degurechaff were the only aces in the war below the age of twenty.

It was disheartening. For the first time Elya realized there was a vast part of Visha's life that she didn't and couldn't understand. No wonder Visha no longer saw Elya as her dearest friend. Elya hadn't even noticed the enormous gap that existed between the two of them. Visha had seemed unchanged by the war, and Elya like an idiot had accepted it at face value.

Elya nodded to herself. She could feel some of her tension leaving her as she mentally realigned her relationship with Visha. Were they still very good friends? Yes, they were. Were they best friends? No. They had grown too far apart for that to be true.

Now that she could put the state of their friendship into perspective, what did that mean for Elya's own choices? Elya had listened as Mary Sioux revealed everything she had learned during her undercover operation. While Degurechaff might be innocent of the crimes she was accused of, it was clear she was guilty of quite a few other crimes during the course of her fugitive career. In fact, if even half of Sioux' suppositions were true, Degurechaff had become the epitome of the international criminal that Interpol was created to pursue in the first place.

The irony was not lost on Elya. But it also meant she could no longer persuade herself that she was a hero helping an innocent young girl evade an unjust trial. The trial was still unjust, but the young girl was anything but innocent. Did she then continue helping Visha when the opportunity arose? Or would her next message to Visha be one where she formally broke off their alliance and declared her support of Interpol? The trouble there was that while Degurechaff might be a criminal, justice required she be punished for things she had provably done, not be thrown behind bars for spurious reasons.

After many long minutes of wrestling with this conundrum, Elya decided on the simplest answer. Procrastinate. Right now Visha was going deep into hiding, so Elya couldn't get in touch with her directly even if she wanted to. She might as well do her best as an Interpol investigator. So far, all of Sioux' accusations against Degurechaff fell somewhere between 'circumstantial' and 'paranoid'. Furthermore, as Sioux' reports on the plantation workers had showed, there were plenty of other crimes that Elya could investigate with a free conscience.

Revealing abuses of the common man, shady dealings and corrupt practices, arresting rapists and traitors and slavers, Elya could get behind all of that. Let Degurechaff and Visha and all the annoying moral quandaries they represented be future Elya's problem. Their Interpol team might be in Rhodesia in the hopes that Degurechaff had fled across the border to here, but that didn't mean there weren't things Elya couldn't poke her nose into. While the Albish might not be mistreating the natives the way the Empire had, that didn't mean there weren't other corrupt practices waiting to be revealed. Mary had really pulled a fine trick when she got Interpol to set precedent on investigating any crime that in any way crossed international borders.

This determination had put her in a much better mood. Elya was one of those people who always preferred to keep things lighthearted, and there was only so much soul-searching she could stand. So when she heard Mary coming in to their shared rooms, Elya stood up, undid her dressing gown to reveal the skimpy lingerie underneath, and went to greet her roommate.

Elya preferred men to women and Sioux was the same, but that didn't mean Elya couldn't have fun flirting with her. No matter how uptight she acted, Sioux couldn't hide that she found the attention flattering. Watching her pretend to be offended was some of the best amusement Elya had these days. Besides, Mary Sioux the flustered eighteen year old was far more tolerable than Mary Sioux the hypocritical moralizing crusader. Some day Elya was going to find the girl's high horse and sell it to the glue factory.

* * *

**August 19, Ila Rouge, Seychelles, The Commonwealth**

I smiled sweetly at my young charge. "Now, now, surely you can go a few more rounds."

The only response was a muffled groan from where Jenny was lying face down on the sand.

Smirking, I walked over to her and took a firm grip on her fiery red hair. I didn't yank on it, as that was unnecessary. A few firm tugs was enough for her to get the message and start regaining her feet. On the way up, she delivered a quick hit to my hand that broke my grip on her hair, and then she tackled me to the ground.

Given our respective sizes, it was a pretty good choice. Jenny was only 5'3", but that still put her three inches above my current height, and her frame was tight with corded muscle from her regular workouts with Velvet Iron's agents. Alas, I was pretty fit too. And even though I'd put aside my M27, I still had the ability to reinforce myself, if not to the same extreme level as I could with a combat-rated orb.

Even as she pulled me down to the ground, I wrapped an arm around her neck, tucked her head under my right arm, and wrapped my legs around her hips. I vaguely recalled this move having some kind of fancy name in my last life, but what mattered was that I was now positioned to squeeze her neck and she had no leverage to break free.

A couple of seconds was enough for Jenny to realize the same thing. Which is when her right hand came up to grip my face, and she tried to gouge out my eye with her thumb.

I couldn't help but feel satisfaction at this. It was always good to see your student learning. Still, I couldn't actually let her get away with that. A quick twist and bite, and I had two fingers of that hand gripped between my teeth, hard enough I tasted blood. A single tug told her she wasn't getting her hand free without leaving something behind. It was at that point she tapped out. After I released her, she immediately curled up around her injured hand.

"Ow ow ow," she whined, clutching her fingers. I rolled my eyes. I'd barely broken skin, she'd gotten nastier injuries from the sand. Over the past few weeks, Jenny had become intimately acquainted with 203-style training. The kind of training where you had access to accelerated healing, meaning you could afford to leave way more bumps and bruises than ordinary sparring. Her whining was just her way of buying more time to rest, and we both knew it.

I decided to allow it anyway. Truth be told, Jenny had taken her disciplinary drills rather well. She whined and grumbled and groaned, but in the end she did everything I told her to and she did it to the best of her ability. I signaled where Visha was standing to the side, and she brought forward water bottles and disinfectants. Magical healing, at least at the level we could perform, amounted to little more than boosting the body's natural healing and magically sealing injuries. Such things were best left for the end of training.

As I took a sip of water, I paused to admire the view. We were in an open patch of sandy ground off to one side of my house. Stands of trees and fencing provided us privacy, and through the gaps you could see the pristine blue waters that surrounded the island. And of course, there was Visha. Even in the modest shorts and shirt that comprised our training clothes, there was much to admire. And well, I suppose Jenny had grown into a stunning young woman as well, but somehow thinking of her that way just felt weird. Maybe because she acted so much more childish than either of us. Well, that, and... "Are we done, _Dad_?"

I blame Visha. She just had to repeat her joke about me and Lena sharing parental duties for Jenny within her hearing, and the brat had immediately latched on to the idea. My feelings towards that nickname were complicated. In my last life, even though I'd been so focused on my career, a part of me had always toyed with the idea of marriage and children. Now each time I heard that word, part of me was happy at the thought, part of me angry at what I had lost, and most of me confused on what to do about it. So I defaulted to taking mock offense, shouting back "I am not that old you brat!" and taking pleasure at Visha and Jenny's amusement.

"I suppose we can call it a day here," I said.

"Hmm... I think I can go one more round." Jenny's faux innocent tone tipped me off. Even as she took a guard position next to me, I could see Visha circling around to the side. This too had become something of a tradition. Most days, we'd end our training with Jenny and Visha ganging up on me.

Fighting Visha hand-to-hand was a completely different proposition to fighting Jenny. At 5'6" she was the tallest and strongest of us, and she was almost as good with orbless reinforcement as me. It was only my extensive training with Joe Barrow that let me win the majority of our spars. With Jenny helping her, most of the time I went down in painful defeat. Not that I shied away from the challenge. Hard training is the best training.

Later that evening I was face down in bed, relaxing as Visha massaged away the bruises of the day. As she was finishing up, she spoke. "Tanya, how long are we going to be like this?"

"Well, Jenny will be on her way back in a few days. Hopefully a little better behaved. But I don't think that's what you meant?"

"I'll miss her," admitted Visha. "But I meant like this. This carefree living in this island paradise."

"I still have pretend to be a leper for visitors. And have to put up with that annoying god-botherer," I pointed out.

"You shouldn't have been so cruel to the poor doctor. I mean, seriously." Visha sat up and pitched up her voice in an imitation of my own, " 'If there is a god he is a cruel and malicious being. So I prefer there be no god and nothing in the Universe but cold pitiless indifference'." I saw her shaking her head from the corner of my eye. "Just because you have no faith doesn't mean you have to be so harsh to the ones that do."

I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't cruel because he had faith. I was cruel because he was annoying me with it."

Visha wisely recognized a losing battle, and went back to her original topic. "Well, those little annoyances aside, you have to admit, this has been by far the most peace we've had in... forever. How long do you think it'll last?"

"Why? Are you bored already?" I could admit to some genuine worry. Knowing what I now did about Visha's natural wildness and love for battle, I was worried she might start a fight or create some scandal just to make things exciting.

"No! Not at all! In fact I'm very happy! It's just... I'm worried something will come along and spoil it."

"Well, it won't happen anytime soon," I said confidently. "We've got Emilie keeping an eye out in Victoria, Koenig keeping watch in Africa. We've managed to completely fudge our trail, and this entire region is out of mage detection range." I took her hand in my own. "Trust me Visha. We'll be tired of the sun and sand long before anything remotely dangerous can happen."

* * *

**August 23, Port Victoria, Mahe Island, Seychelles, The Commonwealth**

The elderly brown skinned Bharati gentleman with the distinguished short gray hair held out his hand to the young blond Europan woman. "My dear lady, I am in your debt for helping to protect me from these ruffians. Shiv Kumar Patel, at your service," he said in flawless Albish.

The woman that Tanya knew as Emilie Ernest (although looking quite different) glanced around the wrecked bar with several unconscious men, mostly white. Taking the man's hand, she shook it firmly. "Linda Louise. And it was my pleasure. You were talking a lot of sense up there. Only fair that the folk doing all the work get paid properly for it. These clowns got no call trying to hurt you... or saying such horrible things about your family. I seen that shit elsewhere. It was ugly then, it's ugly now."

"Alas, intimidation and oppression is ever the tool of those in power who are also in the wrong. Tell me, would you like to join the Oceanic Affirmation Party? It is clear you feel strongly about our primary platform of securing fair working conditions for the laborers on these islands."

"Um... is that all right? I'm not exactly..."

"Dark-skinned?" Patel chuckled. "It wouldn't be much of an equality movement if we excluded on grounds of race now, would it?"

Emilie sighed. "Look, I'd love to help you, but I'm here on a job, and a pretty important one. Can't afford to be distracted too much. I'll help when I can, but that's all."

"Of course."

The two of them left the bar, talking on the way. A few minutes into their conversation, something Patel said piqued Emilie's interest: "Right now, our biggest concern is breaking the monopoly the local plantation owners have on basic necessities. It doesn't matter if we can secure a fair wage, if all the shops then turn around and double their prices."

"So... what you're saying is, you need to be able to get all sorts of goods and supplies into the islands at something like a fair price?"

"Ideally, yes. You seem to have an idea?"

"Let's say I might know some people..."


	27. Chapter 27

_Spacebattles member Jesus commissioned an amazing fanart! Link:_

oniichanyamete. files. wordpress 2020/02/343351_avlattameguca-commish. jpg

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 27**

**September 24, 1929, Ila Rouge, Seychelles, The Commonwealth**

I smirked as I heard Visha humming as she messed about in the kitchen. She thought I didn't know about the ingredients she'd secretly imported to bake me a birthday cake. I'd have to remember to pretend to be surprised. Although, I was a bit concerned by how many ingredients she had ordered. Either she was planning a truly outsize cake, or she planned to take up baking as a serious hobby. I hoped it was the latter. With just the two of us here now that Jenny had returned to New York, there was no need for something very big.

Well, if it was too much we'd just donate the rest to the locals. The poor souls would probably be glad of it. I turned my attention back to the papers in front of me, detailing our next set of escape routes.

When you were both an international fugitive and had a deity out for your head, there was no such thing as being too paranoid. Ever since I'd been forced to flee from Colombia, I'd taken to remembering my army lessons on contingency planning. It was largely thanks to my spending the money on escape plans that we'd been able to set up this base in the Seychelles so quickly. I'd truly been caught by surprise when Interpol caught up to me, but having the laborers contracted and the land leased meant construction on this place started within days of my near capture.

Now I was making plans for my next refuge. I had no illusions that this idyllic existence would be permanent. Fortunately, the world was nowhere near as crowded as it had been during the 21st century. There were plenty of locations where a young woman could vanish if she practiced a modicum of discretion. Thinking about my next bolthole was surprisingly relaxing as long as I was doing the planning while lying on a beach chair in the warm afternoon sun. I made a mental note to focus on places with good weather.

It was at that point I noticed movement on the path leading up to the house. In one swift motion, I'd thrown on a hooded cloak while casting an illusion on my skin to make it look rough and patchy, while simultaneously sending a warning to Visha. Ever since I'd chased off that busybody doctor we didn't get many visitors, but I was always ready anyway. The persona I'd created was for someone who was too vain to show their disfigurement, which explained why I'd always be fully covered even in the hot weather.

As I stood to greet my visitors, I couldn't help but be concerned. This was a group of four men and a woman, none of whom I recognized. I clutched the small pistol concealed under my cloak and sent an additional warning message to Visha. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her taking position near a window, ready to open fire if necessary.

It was only as the group got to within close speaking range that I could spot familiar features among the group. When the woman spoke, I was certain of my identification.

"Afternoon, Major. Ernest, reporting in."

"Emilie? What are you doing here? And who's all this?" I had my suspicions, but I needed to confirm them.

"Let's get out of sight, ma'am, and I'll explain."

I had to admit, it was honestly disturbing to see the effects of my high efficiency illusion spells from the outside. Even though they were right next to me, I could feel practically no mana emissions from the disguised members of my former battalion. Once we were out of sight in my house, the disguises dropped, revealing...

"Vogel, Teyanen... and Royce and Becker too? What are all of you doing here?"

Royce was the one who took it upon himself to explain. "After that mess with Madelaine... uh, I mean Mary... Koenig decided all of us needed to stay in touch with each other to prevent that sort of problem in the future. So when Cold Steel decided to pursue business opportunities here in the Seychelles, and they assigned me as part of the team, I decided to drop by for your birthday and I let Koenig know. Well, Koenig decided that he can spare Vogel and Teyanen long enough for them to attend your birthday as well, and Becker decided to tag along too. So, happy birthday, Major!"

"Surprise!" chimed in Visha, giggling. My eyes grew wide as I turned to my adjutant.

"Visha! You knew?"

"Emilie warned me, but I decided not to say anything. I thought it would make a nice birthday surprise!" Visha's face grew worried. "It's all right isn't it? You don't mind, right?"

I immediately rushed to reassure her. "No, of course it's all right! Honestly, I'm really flattered all of you would travel so far just for my birthday. And I guess that does explain the huge cake Visha has been making. But I guess I'm just worried someone might follow you all here. You know Interpol caught up to me last time by tracing movements of ex-203 mages."

"No worries, Major," replied Royce confidently. "All of us have been travelling under disguise from the get-go. By the time anyone figures out we're not where we were before, all the others will be back at their posts. I'm the only one who'll be staying in the area long term, and I'll mostly be basing out of Imperial West Africa. I'll only be visiting the Seychelles occasionally, and I'll make sure to use a different identity each time so no one even knows I ever come this way."

All that sounded pretty secure, but I couldn't help but feel somehow, somewhere, there would be a slip-up. Still, that's what contingency planning is for. I can't just order them to stay away from me entirely because if they see me acting too paranoid they might just think I'm losing my nerve, and that's something no commander can ever allow their troops to think. "Well, I still think it's an unnecessary risk, but you're already here. So welcome, pull up a chair. There's wine, coffee, and juice. Everyone, make yourselves at home."

They didn't take long to get settled in. After everyone had gotten refreshments and the initial rush of small-talk had subsided, I brought the conversation back around to business. "So, Royce, exactly what business does Cold Steel have in the Seychelles? The last reports I read they were prospecting for gold in the Mutumbu mountains."

"Well, this is actually just an extension of an ongoing project," he replied. "As you might know, Cold Steel's been looking for opportunities to industrialize the colonies and manufacture goods to cater to the local markets."

I nodded to show I knew what he was talking about. The current undeveloped state of most of Africa was a holdover from the era of mercantilism, where every nation treated colonies purely as sources of raw materials, and insisted all value-addition (like manufacturing) should only take place in their home countries. Yet, this meant an enormous price hike for even the most basic manufactured goods by the time they made it back to colonial markets. Establishing manufacturing centers right in the colonies would short-circuit that nonsense. When placed in that context, Cold Steel's interest in the Seychelles was obvious. "Cold Steel's looking to break into the Seychelles market?"

"Yep. Right now it's just for stuff we'll be producing in West Africa. But it's also part of my job to look at the viability of establishing factories right here in the islands themselves. I mean, there's dozens of decently sized uninhabited islands within spitting distance of Mahe and the other big islands. And while most of these islands grow exotic foodstuffs like fruit and vanilla and spices, there's no reason we can't grow cotton to feed some textile mills. Even now Cold Steel's importing cotton seeds and experts from Aegypt to give it a go."

I didn't know the first thing about cotton and textiles, but I was willing to accept Royce's word on the possibilities. And honestly, I was relieved to hear that all they would be focusing on would be harmless consumer products. I'd been having nightmares of them pouring guns and drugs into these peaceful little islands. "What made them focus on the Seychelles anyway?"

Royce tilted his head towards Emilie. "It's Emilie who tipped us off, really. Outside of some basic foodstuffs like fish and corn, these islands are focused almost entirely on producing cash crops for sale in Europe. Practically all the basic necessities have to be imported. And when you're 5,000 kilometers from the nearest manufacturing centers in the Middle East, the costs add up."

I didn't make my instinctive comment that 5,000 kilometers was nothing. In the timeline that I knew, massive cargo ships would carry manufactured goods from halfway around the world just to take advantage of cheaper production costs. However, the kind of stable international trade that sort of outsourcing would require was still decades in the future of this world. Just for starters, Qinguo was still stuck in a three-way civil war, those parts of it that was not being fought over by the Russy Federation and the Akitsushimani Dominion. Maybe in this world we could prevent the future Qinese domination of cheap manufacturing. One could only hope.

I turned to Emilie with a slight smile. "When I told you to stay in Victoria and keep your eyes open, I meant for pursuers, not business opportunities." I pitched my tone to make sure she knew I wasn't upset. After all, I was the one who started paying them bonuses in the form of shares in my companies. It was my way of incentivizing their loyalty to my cause, and I could hardly complain that they'd acted on those incentives.

Emilie's response was a bit surprising, though. "Do you know the same people who own all the land also have a lockdown on the imports? Some of the prices they charge is ridiculous. And the workers on these islands hardly get paid anything to begin with," she said with some heat.

I shrugged. "And how is this different from all the shit we've seen in the rest of Africa? Monopolies will monopolize. If you want competitive pricing, then break the monopoly."

Emilie threw me a salute. "Consider the monopoly broken, Major."

We all shared a laugh at that. However, I was slightly concerned. As long as the company stuck to producing and selling cheap consumer goods I failed to see why anyone would link it to my presence, but Interpol knew about Cold Steel's gun-running in the Congo. So, I addressed Royce. "By the way, there's not going to be any of supplying weapons to the natives here, I trust? Interpol knows about that, doing it here will definitely draw the wrong kind of attention."

"Oh no, no weapons," Royce reassured me. "This is about the basic stuff like clothes and tools."

I was fairly sure he was telling me the truth, and I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. While I was still uncomfortable at the thought of Cold Steel starting a venture so close to my retreat, it was unlikely anyone would think to look twice at a leper colony.

I managed to put aside my worries and simply enjoy the rest of the evening. I hadn't had many friends to celebrate my birthday with in my past life, so having people who cared enough to throw a party on my behalf was an experience I cherished. Even though I knew this was at least partly because my employees wanted to stay on the good side of their boss, the fact that they made the effort still warmed my heart.

* * *

**October 18, 1929, Silhouette Island, Seychelles**

Pierre Dubois was not a man given to great shows of emotion. His ancestors had been Francois nobility since the 13th century. His branch of the family had moved to Mauritius in the late 18th century and over the generations had established themselves as one of the largest landowners in the region. Even the Albish conquering the islands hadn't really fazed his family, they had smoothly brokered an agreement with their new overlords and business continued as usual. He might only be a second son, but he was the definition of old money, and such pedigree brought with it certain standards of behavior. So he carefully waited until the only person present was the valet who had been attending him for twelve years before screaming and hurling his wine glass at the wall.

Silhouette Island was the most prestigious of the Dubois holdings in the Seychelles. Sure, as far as money went it was only of middling importance. But no other family in the Indian Ocean could brag complete ownership of such a large island. This was why Pierre was here in person, sent at the behest of his older brother and family head. The Dubois family was no stranger to labor unrest, the damn darkies always seemed to be grumbling about something, and Pierre had come with permission to accede some minor concessions, and a dozen grizzled guards to knock the heads of those who remained stubborn.

Labor unrest, Pierre was fully capable of handling. The trouble was, when he arrived he discovered there was no labor at all, restive or otherwise.

The source of the problem was, naturally, the never to be sufficiently damned Bharati. A century ago, those brown skinned savages had seemed the ideal compromise after the Commonwealth outlawed slavery. The Dubois family had not been alone in importing large numbers of those meek and hardworking people, so much more pliable than their African counterparts. But over the last decade or so Bharat was being racked by this nonsense of Civil Disobedience, and the rot had spread all the way out here.

According to his overseers, a few weeks ago a known agitator had come to the island, guarded by armed men, and had proceeded to meet all the most important leaders among his workers. Apparently he had been talking about some newly established plantations whose owners were willing to offer far more generous terms for experienced labor. He must have been persuasive, because when Pierre arrived he discovered over three quarters of the island's workforce had simply packed up and left aboard a ship supplied by this interloper. Not just the Bharati, but a large portion of his African workers as well.

Such a massive loss of workers was a severe blow. It would take months to arrange replacement labor, meaning most of this year's harvest was down the drain. More importantly, the Bharati proving themselves so treacherous meant they'd most likely have to rely on African labor. That would be painful - in spite of the greater distance, Bharati were useful because they came from a farming society, as opposed to the primitive blacks who couldn't tell the difference between a hoe and a shovel unless a white man taught them first.

This was beyond the pale. There was a gentleman's agreement among the various plantation owners never to poach from each other's workforce. After all, they all thrived and profited from the simple fact that, for the vast majority of the island population, it was either work on their plantations or starve. These workers were not slaves, legally speaking. They were free to leave at any time. But since none of them had money to pay for a boat ride and no employer on the islands would dare offend the big landlords by employing someone blacklisted by them, the vast majority of them had no choice but to take whatever terms their betters offered.

Pierre didn't know how that Bharati malcontent got the backing of some new plantation owner who clearly didn't know how things were done here, but the Dubois scion knew what to do about it. The Planter's Association was founded to promote the interest of all plantation owners on the islands, and this was exactly the sort of thing they would be interested in. Hopefully, whoever this newcomer was, they could be made to understand how shortsighted it was to pander to the primitives. Maybe a letter to the Governor would also be in order.

* * *

**November 9, 1929, Governor's Mansion, Port Victoria, Mahe, Seychelles**

The mansion of the Seychelles Governor was currently hosting a ball. Not _the _Governor's Ball (that would be held on New Year's Eve) but just one of the many get-togethers that any good governor held in order to make the local worthies feel appreciated. Naturally, the guest list was comprised almost entirely of plantation owners and their associates. In other words, the very people whose economic monopoly my companies were out to break.

My presence here was admittedly a bit of risk. But to my mind the risk was minor compared to what Visha might do if she got bored. I hadn't forgotten her comment a few months back on how peaceful our life on the Ila Rouge was. And while she had been vehement that she was perfectly satisfied with our idyllic existence, I couldn't shake the worry that she had only been saying that to keep me happy.

A bored Visha was a dangerous Visha. So when Emilie let me know that the Seychelles Governor had passed on an invitation to his ball to the Dark Earth Corporation, I got myself and Visha included in the guest list. Visha had once mentioned in passing that she enjoyed dancing, so I figured this would be an excellent opportunity for her to blow off some steam. Furthermore, it would also let me get a close look at one Honorable Harold Cromartie, President of Dark Earth Corporation.

Dark Earth was apparently the latest company that I owned. I say 'apparently' because I had absolutely nothing to do with setting it up. It turns out, there was one tiny snag with Cold Steel investing in the Seychelles. Cold Steel was an Imperial company, and the Seychelles was an Albish colony. With the cool relations between the two countries, the Cold Steel leadership thought it prudent to work through Albish intermediaries. Enter Dark Earth, a company incorporated in Rhodesia, mostly funded by Cold Steel, with my Rhodesian mining company Black Diamond providing a minority of the funding and the majority of the Albish contacts. The Hon. Harold Cromartie had been identified by Black Diamond's leadership as a suitable face for this Seychelles-focused agricultural company.

From what I could tell, my people had chosen well. Cromartie seemed charming, intelligent, and was clearly in no mood to take any guff from the local Planter's Association who were up in arms over how they were hemorrhaging workers to Dark Earth and their fair wages and good working conditions and actually fulfilling the indentured worker's dream of one day owning their own land. I carefully hid my smirk. I wish I could be there to see their faces when these newly empowered workers start requesting to join their Planter's Association, or more likely, set up a rival lobbyist group. I was already hearing rumors of something called the Oceanic Affirmation Party.

Off to one side, I could see the Governor looking torn at the controversy surrounding Cromartie. On the one hand, my new company was upsetting the local landowners, the very people the Governor was supposed to administer. On the other hand, Dark Earth itself was a pretty big landowner by this point. Perhaps more importantly, Cromartie was a scion of Albish nobility whereas the large majority of Seychelles plantation owners were descended from Francois aristocracy. After studying the Governor for a bit, I decided there was no need to worry. If there's one thing two Albishmen far from home can bond over, it was the opportunity to put the screws to a bunch of Frogs.

Turning away from the politicking, I saw something far less pleasing. Visha, looking radiant even in disguise, dancing in the arms of some young rake. For the first time in my life, I felt inadequate because I had never learned ballroom dancing. Two women dancing together might look odd, but it would at least reduce the chance of local Lotharios trying to lure away my irreplaceable adjutant. And I was honest enough to admit my own jealousy at seeing Visha in the arms of another man. Which was silly since, my teenage attraction notwithstanding, there was nothing between us to justify such possessiveness. I had to remind myself it was a good thing Visha looked so happy. After all, the primary purpose of this excursion was to give Visha the chance to work off her pent-up energy before she did something drastic.

My efforts to hide my feelings must not have been entirely successful, because after the next dance ended Visha broke away to offer me her hand. Smiling sadly, I told her, "I'm afraid my formal dancing skills are almost non-existent. I will only slow you down."

Visha only laughed. "It's never too late to learn. I've never known you to be afraid of anything, don't start now!"

Well, how could I refuse an invitation like that? For the next few hours, I took great pleasure in watching Visha brushing off all the horny young and not-so-young men as she carefully led me through the steps of some basic dances. And if I proved a slow learner, that's no one's business but my own.

All in all, it turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable evening. It even ended on a very amusing note when one of the guests tried the old Nigerian Prince scam on us.

Well, the Nigerian Prince scam was old in my timeline. I suppose here and now it was still quite novel. And to be accurate, the fellow wasn't pretending to be a Nigerian Prince, but rather the King of something called the Ashanti Empire, located somewhere on the Gold Coast.

This King spun quite the entertaining tale. Apparently he had been exiled to Victoria on a 25 year sentence after his people fought and lost a war against the Albish. Now his sentence was up and he was supposed to return home, but the Albish were coming up with one excuse after another to deny his return to his people. Naturally, a king's ransom awaited any who could provide him the wherewithal to return to his homeland.

I had to admit, scammers of my time could stand to learn a thing or two from this old fellow. Instead of overplaying his part by showing up in native regalia and acting like an uncultured barbarian, he was dressed in a quietly conservative Western suit with manners to match. He was greying, soft spoken, and possessed of a sad dignity that I could tell had taken in poor naive Visha completely. The best part was that his scam required his victim to give him travelling money, so his escape was guaranteed by his scam's success. The part that really sold it though, was when Visha started making noises about helping him, he gestured vaguely towards some of the ballroom security and remarked how even if he could find someone generous enough to help him, he was being watched at all times. This pretended reluctance to put a Good Samaritan at risk on his own account instead of immediately jumping at the chance for a payday, it was almost admirable how this conman could play his victims better than an angler with a hooked fish.

As one might expect, the prospect of danger only seemed to impress Visha further with the seriousness of the situation. And now she was giving me the puppy dog eyes. I was tempted to reveal this old shyster for the charlatan he was, but I couldn't see any way of doing that without causing a scene. Conman or no, he must have some impressive contacts to get himself into this predominantly white man's ball. So instead, I decided to hit two birds with one stone. I would give Visha the chance to have a bit of excitement by smuggling him out of the ball unnoticed, and I would teach him a lesson by giving him exactly what he asked for.

By this time, Visha's low power illusions were almost flawless. Since the Seychelles lacked mage detectors or mage patrols, it was simplicity itself to walk out His Highness under the cover of a camouflage spell while I distracted the guards by making small talk. In a matter of minutes, we were at the pier where our Curtiss flying boat was moored. Warned by a communication spell, our designated pilot Emilie was already there and waiting.

This Curtiss flying boat had started life as a long range passenger model before being upgraded with external fuel tanks. Not the fastest machine, but it could reach most places on the East African coast in one flight. I was amused to see the surprise steal across the King's face when he saw the aircraft. He had most likely hoped to milk us for a fat stack of cash, not an actual airplane ride.

"Linda," I said, using Emilie's current identity, "You have a mission. This here is the King of the Ashanti, cruelly and illegally exiled by the perfidious Albish government. Your first job is to fly him to Mzizima. Once there, you will make arrangements to transport him over to the West Coast. From there, he is to be smuggled to... where did you say the Ashanti capital was, Your Highness?"

"Comassie," came the shell-shocked reply.

"Comassie, capital of the Ashanti, in the Albish portion of the Gold Coast," I finished. "And remember, you are to do this in complete anonymity. No drawing attention of any kind, particularly from Albion. I don't care if you have to sedate him and lock him in a suitcase, not a soul is to know of his existence until he arrives in Comassie."

It was a genuine struggle to keep from laughing as I saw the expression on the so-called King's face at my instructions. Try to con me, will he? Well, as the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for.

Emilie definitely looked puzzled by this sudden adventure, but she was too loyal to question it. However, she did ask, "What resources can I draw on, ma'am?"

I dropped my voice so the man couldn't hear, "How much money do you have on you?"

"Right now? About twenty pounds."

"Then that's your budget. You can also contact the other 203 members for help. However, you are not to draw any company funds or in any way involve any of the companies. This fellow claims his arrival will annoy the Albish, so I don't want anyone connecting his appearance in the Gold Coast with us. Consider this a low-budget training exercise. You and the boys have yourselves and your gear, and that's it." At the end of the day, I wasn't willing to spend too many resources on this petty revenge. And if I could give my troops some useful infiltration training in the process, then it was money well spent.

Turning around I rejoined the King who was currently listening to Visha reassure him that 'Linda' would guarantee his arrival in his kingdom, come hell or high water. "Well your Highness, it's all set," I told him. "In just a few weeks, you will once more be gracing the forests and hills of your homeland."

"I... I don't know what to say. This is so sudden. And how can I reward my benefactors?"

Points for style, even now he was trying to use my greed to give himself a chance to escape from this unwanted journey. I wasn't having any of it. "Wait until you're actually back and on your throne, Your Highness. Then you can give your reward to whichever of my people is with you at the time. I am sure you will be suitably generous."

As we escorted him into the flying boat, Emilie whispered to me, "What kind of reward are we talking about here?"

I didn't want to give her false hope, so I said, "I think he'll be lucky if anyone even recognizes him. I'm only doing this because it tickled my fancy. Your job is to get him in, then get out, reward or no. Use your best judgement. Oh, and keep your guard up. King or no, that's still a stranger you're dealing with." I felt that should cover all the bases.

Soon enough, the seaplane was taxiing out into the open water, on its way to Imperial East Africa. Credit to the conman, right up to the very end he maintained his persona. I was half-expecting him to admit the whole thing was a sham and beg not to be packed off to strange lands, but he stood firm. He probably thought to give Emilie the slip once he got to the mainland. I wished him luck - unless her training had slipped badly, Emilie was not going to let him out of her sight.

As the plane took off, Visha remarked, "I'm surprised, Tanya. Usually you don't like involving yourself in other people's problems."

"Yes, well, that's because I don't like long term commitments with no benefits. But this is hardly long term and sometimes I like to do things just because."

"You? Do something without a plan? Should I warn of a cold front bearing down on hell?"

We both shared a laugh, but I could tell Visha was pleased. Her gratitude alone was more than worth the trouble. I just hope she wasn't too upset when the truth came out.

* * *

**November 16, 1929, New York, Unified States**

Jenny grinned as she twirled and flicked her new knife. It had taken her a while to get the hang of it, but damn were these Balisong knives cool! They might not be up to a Bowie when it came to fighting, but nothing, in her sixteen-year-old opinion, could beat them for style. She really had to get something nice for Murdoch this Christmas as a thank you for the great gift.

As she finished her last flick and twirl, some of the idly watching Velvet Iron agents broke into applause. Mixed in the applause was a set coming from the door. Looking around, she blushed a bit as she took in the very handsome and well-dressed young man in the doorway. "Bravo! Bravo, young lady!" came the man's enthusiastic exclamation. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Oh, y'know, here and there," Jenny said carelessly. "Who're you though?"

"Ah, where are my manners. John Felix Hughes, at your service," he replied, stretching out his hand.

Jenny gave him a firm handshake, "Jenny Brown." Then she blinked. "Wait, Hughes? The movie guy? You're the one who made that movie with big sis Jennifer!"

"Indeed I - "

"John Felix Hughes," came Lena's cold voice. "It's not enough you bug me at all hours, now you're harassing my daughter as well?"

"Excuse me, I don't harass," came the offended reply. "All I want is a single meeting with Jennifer Ecks. If she doesn't want to act for me anymore, then she can say it to my face. Is that so much to ask?"

"I've told you a hundred times, I don't know where she is."

Hughes paused for a moment, then said, "Fine, I won't ask you again. But in exchange, I want her to come down and give a screen test." His hand waved carelessly at Jenny.

"Absolutely not, she has school."

"During Christmas break then."

Jenny was jumping up and down in excitement. "Come on pleaaaase? I wanna see if I can be an actress too!"

Lena rubbed her head. "Hughes, why the hell do you want to drag her into this? She's only sixteen!"

"Are you kidding, woman? Did you see her with that knife? Why do you think I'm chasing after Ecks so bad? Do you know how few actresses can actually play a convincing fighter? I've got a half a dozen ideas and no star to play them!" Hughes whirled around, hands framing Jenny's face. "I can see it now, the return of Jenny E to the silver screen! If you have what it takes, you can be big, my dear!"

Lena sighed as she took in Jenny's pleading eyes. "Fine. But only if her grades are up to scratch. And let's make one damn thing clear. I'm her guardian. You do not film a single frame of her without a proper contract and my permission."

"But of course, I would expect no less from a businesswoman of your caliber."

Sometime later, finally having gotten rid of Hughes, Lena was speaking to her surrogate daughter. "I hope you understand the kind of man he is, Jenny."

"A sleaze?"

"A rich, charming, handsome sleaze. I saw the way you looked at him."

"Just admiring the scenery, Len. He ain't gonna do anything I don't want him to."

"That's my point. He is very good at getting women to do what he wants. He's got a wife and still has a list of mistresses as long as my arm. And you deserve better than to be a notch on his bedpost."

Jenny snorted. "Please. If it does come to that, I ain't gonna be a notch on his bedpost. He'll be the first on mine."


	28. Chapter 28

_A\N: This story is now caught up with my main SpaceBattles thread. All versions of this story will now be on the same chapter as SB._

**Chapter 28**

**December 20, 1929, Ila Rouge, Seychelles**

It was yet another beautiful day in my little slice of paradise, but I couldn't help but worry. Even as I sat here, Jenny would be bouncing around Reina del Angel with that womanizer John Hughes. The mere thought of that philanderer making eyes at a sixteen year old that I felt responsible for - well, when Lena had written to me about Jenny going to Hollywood for that 'screen test', I almost took off for the Unified States then and there. It was only Visha remarking that I was acting like an overprotective father that let me put matters in perspective. Ultimately, Jenny was not only old enough to start making her own mistakes, but she wasn't actually my daughter. Even Lena's guardianship of her was little more than a legal fiction. It was not my place to control her life.

Besides, Lena had pulled out the big guns and sent both Joe Barrow and Samantha Young as Jenny's chaperones. Short of sending a member of the 203rd, those two were probably my best choices for making sure no one took advantage of her. I had fired back a message telling Lena to also keep a lawyer on standby to sue Hughes into the ground if he dared lead Jenny on with false promises, and to make sure that both Young and Barrow kept their recording spells ready to collect evidence. But even knowing I'd done everything that could be reasonably expected of me, I was still concerned. Jenny knew a lot of my secrets, and teenagers were not known for good decision-making.

Sadly, Jenny was not the only person causing me anxiety. It had been six weeks since Emilie had left for the Gold Coast with that false king. Even assuming she decided to escort him all the way to Ashanti territory she should have been back by now. I really hope she didn't get caught up in any of that fellow's scams. I was now regretting not letting her in on the joke that I was playing on that conman. If she took his claims of royalty seriously she might waste more time on him than necessary.

Unfortunately there wasn't much I could do now but trust her judgement. I consoled myself that I'd put strict limits on the resources she could call on, so she wouldn't be able to do too much damage. Putting both Emilie and Jenny out of my mind for the moment, I turned my attention to the news that had come in from my various interests from around the globe.

In international news, the Imperial government was coming under heavy criticism after Interpol blew the labor dispute in the Congo wide open. They were even being accused of oppressing local miners using elite aerial mages sent directly from the mainland. I felt a cold sweat when I read this. It was obvious to me those mages were probably this 207th I'd been hearing about, sent to the Katanga region to hunt me down. Their investigations had undoubtedly led to the shady copper deal I'd been involved in, and which the press had completely misinterpreted to mean they were there to suppress local dissent. Hopefully the outrage would grow big enough they'd be recalled, I didn't fancy the only dual-core mages in the world being less than a day's flight away.

Apart from that there was a bunch of other stuff... economic crisis in the States, belligerent political parties in Francois, social unrest in Ildoa, civil unrest in Bharat, violent unrest in the Middle East, war in Qinguo, and either complete silence or blatant propaganda from the Russy. All in all, I might as well have been reading headlines from my own timeline. Shrugging it off, I turned to news from my businesses.

For now, business in the Americas was going steady. In spite of the ongoing grief caused by the Depression, Velvet Iron and Sunrise Botanicals continued to find customers for their product. Reading between the lines, the illicit demand for marijuana and opium remained as high as ever, with Velvet Iron helping to guard the shipments from legal attention. Hopefully they were making enough legitimate sales to fudge the money trail, or they'd have the American taxmen breathing down their necks.

Household Magicks also continued its steady expansion, helped along by heavy investments in both research to refine their rituals, and magical testing to find enough mages to power those rituals. However, it seemed the time for slow and steady expansion was over. So far, Household Magicks had held a virtual monopoly. Now their CEO, Changying Lin, was telling me they were seeing a number of copycats claiming to offer similar services, some of them from her old neighborhood of Qintown. Most of these copycats were the same superstition peddlers from my old world, but one or two of them had some actual magical knowledge backing their offerings. Clearly, an aggressive response was needed to ensure Household Magicks' market dominance.

Of course, what I considered a proper response differed greatly from what some of the thugs in my employ may have envisioned. Considering how Lin had grown up in an area dominated by Qinese crime syndicates, it was no surprise she suggested (in oblique language) using Velvet Iron to put extralegal pressure on her competition. I might have missed it if I wasn't looking for it, but there was no way I was letting my sole completely legitimate source of income become embroiled in criminal activity. I wrote back a scathing response to Lin where I made it absolutely crystal clear that under no circumstances was there to be any undue threats levied against her competition. The proper way, as I outlined, was for Household Magicks to expand fast enough to push out their opposition through pricing, availability, and quality. And when Household Magicks got big enough that the opposition was unable to compete, they could drive home the final nail by buying out (for a fair price) those of the competition that were actually worth something, and add their expertise to Household's own. That was how a proper market leader did business, and that is what I instructed Lin to do.

Now, to be fair, my plan required a great deal of money that Lin did not have. And so I decided on the route that every startup in the late 20th century had followed when the time came for rapid expansion. I decided to go public.

It was quite an enjoyable intellectual challenge. My vague memories from business school in no way prepared me to design a company's Initial Public Offering, and that was with the added challenge of a stock market that had barely finished bottoming out. In the end, I decided to keep things simple while also leveraging what little political influence Household Magicks had.

My plan to build investor interest started with emphasizing the exotic and mysterious Oriental roots of Feng Shui and then claim it was combined with genuine American magical know-how, a blatant appeal to patriotism. The prospectus would also point to the past two years of steady success as proof of the marketability of our product. This plan would hopefully build some interest and make the company's name known to the public, but I knew full well that real success would depend on garnering the interest of the big banks and financiers. Here is where, for once, politics played in my favor.

In the recently concluded Unified States Presidential Election, the combination of the Depression and turmoil in South America had seen the incumbent government chucked from office. Come the New Year, the new President Thomas Emanuel Smith would be taking his seat, and he just happened to be a Democrat whose path to the White House had been paved by hundreds of thousands of votes raised by Mayor Hague's political machine. I figured with all the preferential treatment my companies had given him over the years, the least Hague could do is drop a friendly word in the ears of his fellow Democrat. I wasn't expecting a public endorsement from the President, but having even a few Democrat-leaning bankers looking kindly at Household Magicks could very well make the difference in getting this IPO off the ground.

I set the fundraising goal at $250,000, or about six months' gross revenue. Not much in the grand scheme of things, but enough to fuel a significant expansion. If we were really lucky, we might even raise half a million. I did wish I could be in America to oversee the process in person. As far away as I was, all I could do was send a few pages of general instructions and hope for the best.

In Africa, Cold Steel was showing decent profits. This was not much comfort to me, as I could only guess how much of it came from gun running and other illegal acts. However, recently they had literally struck gold. An expedition in north-eastern Congo, aided by Black Diamond's mining expertise, had located what seemed to be a rich vein of gold. Unfortunately, it was in an extremely remote location far from current development. Exploiting it would require significant up front expenses.

Well, I had no interest in looking for public investment here. Given the enormous stink Interpol was raising about the labor situation in the Congo, I felt it only a matter of time before Mary Sioux' report led to Cold Steel being raided. There was no need to draw even more attention. So I told the CEO to use his best judgement, while also sternly reminding him the importance of treating his workers well and keeping everything provably above board.

Speaking of Black Diamond, their future was looking bleak. The drop in international copper demand had finally broken the Rhodesian copper cartel. While this was good for copper buyers, it also meant an end to Black Diamond's easy income. Now it's refined copper was barely breaking even. Still, the company had fulfilled its primary goal of stocking up on uranium ore. I was tempted to shut down the refinery and turn the company entirely to a commodity holding company with a bit of prospecting on the side.

Before I threw in the towel on the refinery, I decided to take a stab at finding a new customer for the copper. There was a report that had come from Tilbury Security in Albion. As a shareholder I got regular reports on their business activity, and recently Tilbury had been hired to provide guards to some oil company executives visiting the Trucal States. It seemed Albion was making a move on the oilfields of the Middle East. This did not surprise me, the Turkmen Empire had been devoured by infighting in recent months. The Trucal States had never been part of their territory, but the European powers had nonetheless tread lightly. Now that the threat of Turkmen interference had vanished under troubled waters, the Albish were the first to get out their fishing rods.

The Trucal States were actually a loose conglomeration of independent fiefdoms that in my world would one day form the United Arab Emirates. Right now they were rich in sand and belligerent nomads. You couldn't even say they were rich in oil, since they lacked the tools to exploit it. If Albion or any other European power wanted access to that oil, they would have to build a great deal of modern infrastructure. Infrastructure that would need copper. I ordered Black Diamond to send an expert team to the Trucal States to look for anyone developing the area, and see if they could be talked into making us their source of copper.

Last but not least, we come to Dark Earth. There was really not much to say, they were deep in the red but were meeting their goals for acquiring capital and human assets. Only time would tell if there would be a market for their products. However, their workers were being extremely active in the Oceanic Affirmation Party. I'd expected a political opponent to the Planter's Association to develop, but this was much faster than expected. It did however present an opportunity to reduce the political clout of the Planter's Association. I didn't know how much influence Dark Earth had over their workers' politics, but I sent instructions to try and get them to swear loyalty to Albion while presenting themselves as opposed to only the current landlords.

The narrative we would try to present would be a picture of honest and humble African and Asian subjects of the Commonwealth being ruthlessly exploited by greedy Francois interlopers, stealing food from Albion's native subjects, and money from the Albish taxpayer. It was utter bullshit but the Albish had been fighting the Francois for far longer than they have been friends, so anti-Francois bigotry was always a political winner. With an Albish-run company like Dark Earth proving they could get along with the natives, the narrative would be even easier for the Albish public to swallow. With just a bit of lobbying in Londinium, Dark Earth might get the Planter's Association off its back long enough to get established.

As I worked away, Christmas came and went. Even though I despised Being X, I'd still enjoyed the holiday as being one of the few times when both sides of the war would invariably declare a truce. Visha managed to implement a recipe for plum pudding that she got from the Governor's household during her last visit, and I decided to indulge my hormonal side by buying her the raciest swimsuit I could find in any catalog. As I had hoped, receiving the gift from a fellow woman meant she accepted it without fuss, and in spite of her blushing she started wearing it regularly. I have to admit, it really is wonderful to live somewhere that is warm all year round. I was actually looking forward to what the New Year will bring.

* * *

**January 5, 1930, Chancellor's Residence, Berun, The Empire**

Brigadier General Erich von Lergen was a man who prided himself on his work, and had long since resigned himself to being rewarded with more difficult work. Yet even he felt some trepidation in once more being involved, however indirectly, with the doings of one Tanya von Degurechaff.

"Are you sure you can't find someone else, Chancellor?" he asked mildly. Long familiarity with the man sitting across from him meant he felt safe in speaking freely. "You are aware of my opinion regarding the former Major."

"It is exactly because of your skepticism regarding Degurechaff that you are the best man for this assignment, General," replied the Chancellor.

"Oh? I am surprised to hear you say that, Chancellor. After all, it is no secret that you were one of her strongest supporters during her time in the military."

Hans von Zettour leaned back in his chair and pulled on his cigar as he considered how much to share with the man before him. Picking his words carefully, he said, "No matter how much I may admire the girl, I am not blind to the fact that she is an extremely dangerous person who is now out in the world entirely unsupervised. The only point of contact we have is the Cold Steel Trading Company, and even that is unconfirmed. So we need someone in the Congo to keep an eye on this company, make sure it does not exceed the bounds of... approved business."

Lergen adjusted his glasses and fixed the Chancellor with a stern look. "That's strange. I'm pretty sure I read a news article saying you're handing a number of concessions to Cold Steel. That does not sound like official disapproval to me."

Zettour's lips thinned. "I had less choice in that than you might think, General. The systematic abuse revealed by Interpol tainted and embarrassed all the largest trading companies in the region. In order to rehabilitate our public image, the government had to revoke their concessions and instead hand them to companies with a proven track record of treating their workers well. Cold Steel was at the top of a depressingly short list."

"If you will pardon me Chancellor, but it sounds as if you are telling me Cold Steel is now politically untouchable. And yet you are asking me to try and curtail their less savory activities."

"It's not quite so hopeless, General. As part of making sure such abuses cannot occur again, any company with a concession in the colonies is now subject to a far greater degree of oversight. You will find the garrison commander's power to investigate and enforce the rules greatly expanded. The new Governor appointed to the Congo has also been briefed to support you fully."

Lergen considered this for a moment. "That does sound better. But I seem to recall a young girl with some very... _creative... _yet legal interpretations of the rules of war. If Degurechaff really is involved with Cold Steel, do you really think we'll find any clear evidence of wrongdoing?"

"Forcing them to be creative is still better than letting them operate without any oversight at all," sighed Zettour. "Besides, once we know where the loopholes are, we can at least try to plug them." Then his gaze sharpened. "I hope you understand, General Lergen, this is not permission to carry out some kind of vendetta. It is because of your experience with Degurechaff that you are being asked to take command in the Congo, but in the end you too are bound by the same laws you are being asked to reinforce."

Lergen stiffened. "I resent the implication, Chancellor. Personal feelings aside, I have always done my duty."

Zettour nodded. "I know, General. That is exactly why I'm trusting you with such a sensitive post. You did sterling work integrating and pacifying Morocco, and I need you to do the same here. I did not mean to impugn your honor, but it is best if there is no misunderstanding."

Knowing this was the closest thing to an apology he was going to get, Lergen tilted his head in acceptance. "And what happens if I should actually locate Tanya von Degurechaff?"

"She is still a wanted woman, General. Naturally, you will do your best to arrest her. However, since her exact legal status is still very uncertain, you are not permitted lethal measures."

Lergen stared. "Degurechaff is the most dangerous mage in the world. She is reported to be in the company of former members of the 203rd, the only other mages in the world who might reasonably compete with her. And you're telling me I'm not allowed to shoot at her?"

"Self-defense is still permitted, General. But yes, you are not permitted to fire the first shot. If she shoots at your men, then by all means, shoot back."

Lergen wanted to shout back that Degurechaff was infamous for only needing one shot. It took a deep breath before he calmed down and reminded himself that Degurechaff no longer had access to the Type 95 or 97. Her personal lethality now had an upper limit. Her tactical and strategic lethality still remained distressingly undefined, but at least she could no longer blow up a city on a whim.

Zettour observed the expressions flitting across his junior's face. "I know it is a hard thing I ask of you, General Lergen," he said seriously. "But it is because of your proven ability that I ask it of you. I am also working on changing the Empire's official stance on Degurechaff. Just keep a lid on things, General, and keep an ear open. Hopefully, there will soon be good news."

As Lergen took his leave of Zettour, it occurred to him that Zettour had not defined what constituted 'good' news. He had a feeling that, where Degurechaff was concerned, his and the new Chancellor's definition of 'good' might be somewhat divergent.

* * *

**January 27, 1930, Ndola, Rhodesia**

Elya puffed heavily as sweat streamed off her brow. She never thought she'd miss the cold winters of Prussia, but right now she'd give anything to feel a chill on her skin. It really was much too hot to go through the kind of workout she was doing. Alas, the last few months had produced so few results that she'd had to take up serious exercise just to keep from getting fat.

For months now, she and Mary and Strong had been poking away at Black Diamond and the other mining concerns in northern Rhodesia, looking for any link to Degurechaff through the mining deal that Mary had interrupted. However, all their presence had achieved was to make life difficult for the local copper cartel. In fact, their constant poking seemed to have spooked the cartel into breaking up, which may or may not be a good thing, but was certainly nothing to do with Degurechaff. They'd even moved their base from Lukasa to Ndola in order to be closer to the companies of interest, but even that hadn't helped anything.

"Done already, Roth? You're not slacking off, are you?"

Elya scowled at the smug smirk Mary was throwing at her. The American-Legadonian was in annoyingly good shape. Unlike Elya who only exercised enough to keep her figure, Mary seemed hell bent on winning a rematch with Degurechaff, and had been working out whenever she could. Even though Mary was sweating just as much, she was still breathing much more easily than Elya.

As Elya studied Mary, her scowl changed to a smirk. Mary's own smile faded as her expression grew wary. Finally, Elya spoke. "Not bad, Sioux. That's what, six miles in forty minutes? Mage or no, those are some strong legs."

"Thanks...?"

"Bet they'd feel great wrapped around me!"

Mary gave a long-suffering sigh. "And there it is. Seriously Roth, could you stop being so predictable and not turn everything into innuendo?"

"I would, except that cute little blush says you li-i-ike it!" Elya sang.

Mary could feel her face going from faint pink to bright red. It wasn't her fault! She was still a young woman, and she enjoyed compliments. Even from someone as insufferable as Roth. Refusing to give the annoying Imperial any more ammunition, she threw herself into a set of push-ups.

It was at that moment that there was a knock on the doors to their shared rooms.

Captain Strong entered, still looking as neat as ever in spite of the heat. Mary immediately broke off her reps and sat up. Strong wouldn't barge in like this without good reason.

"Ladies," Strong nodded to them. "I have some interesting news."

Once they were both paying attention, he started to lecture while pacing. "Several weeks ago, Nana Osei Prempeh returned to the Ashanti kingdom in the Albish Gold Coast, and was promptly crowned monarch by a jubilant people. Albion found this very concerning since the man was an outspoken opponent to their presence and had been exiled decades ago after the Albish put down a native uprising. In spite of their best efforts, the man miraculously escaped his exile to some island, evaded all border checks, and managed to reappear on his seat of power. However, when the Albish moved to arrest him once again, they found their efforts rebuffed by natives who had suddenly got their hands on modern arms and training, and there are even rumors of magical assistance. Any of this sound familiar?"

Elya could see the connection. "Give the natives a cause, arm them, support them, and then turn them loose against their colonial overlords," she checked off on her fingers. "Sounds like Degurechaff all right. First Colombia, then Congo, now... the Gold Coast?" Elya started biting her lip. "Captain, why would Degurechaff drop all her work in Congo to mess with the Gold Coast?"

"Maybe it's revenge?" Mary flushed at the raised eyebrows from both her colleagues. "Don't look at me like that, it makes sense! Degurechaff's work in Colombia screwed over the Americans, the Congo thing has become a huge embarrassment for the Empire, and now she's screwing with the Albish. Three major powers, all of them among the countries sponsoring both the tribunal that tried her, and later Interpol to pursue her."

"So... what? Are you saying everything she's done is to get back at the countries who tried her?" asked Elya curiously.

Now it was Mary who was scowling in deep thought. "Maybe. When I spoke to her though, the impression I got... she is not a woman who does things for just one simple reason," she ventured.

"Don't forget the profit motive," observed Strong. "The Ashanti region is known to contain gold mines. The Albish have never been able to properly exploit it due to the uncooperative natives, but having a monarch who owes his restoration to you can definitely make a difference."

All three of them pondered this information for a minute. Then Elya spoke, "So, Captain, I take it we're on our way to the Gold Coast?"

"Not quite," denied Strong. "We've spent years chasing Degurechaff and getting nowhere. Instead, we're going to be focusing on the logistics. If the Ashanti are getting their hands on modern guns, I think we can all guess the identity of their supplier?"

""Cold Steel,"" came the chorus.

"Exactly. Instead of chasing around the jungle looking for Degurechaff, we're going to Point Noir and try and see if we can pick up the trail there. It's almost guaranteed Degurechaff or one of her subordinates is directly involved with the weapon smuggling."

Mary spoke up. "No offense to Roth, Captain, but Congo is Imperial territory. Do you think we'll get any cooperation from the local authorities?"

Strong nodded. "A valid concern. As it happens, they've got a new garrison commander, a General Lergen. Know him, Roth?"

"I've heard of him. Supposed to be an excellent staff officer. I think he worked with Degurechaff, but was rumored to not be her biggest fan," replied Elya, brow furrowed as she tried to remember.

"Yes well, he's also openly committed himself to cooperating with Interpol to put an end to the human rights abuse happening in the Congo," said Strong. "So far, he seems sincere. So I don't think he'll be able to refuse us if we ask for his help. Especially since the chaos in the Congo was kicked off by the same person we're chasing."

There was another moment of silent consideration. "Well then," Elya broke the silence. "I guess we're headed to Point Noir. Got a plan for if we run into any of your ex-coworkers, Mary?"

"Oh, I think I'll just play it by ear," came Mary's sarcastic response.

* * *

**February 14, 1930, Ila Rouge, Seychelles**

I had mixed feelings over the latest high-level report from Cold Steel. Apparently, after General Zettour took over as Chancellor he had redistributed the various concessions awarded to Imperial companies, with an eye towards rewarding those companies who had proven themselves able to work with natives without abusing them. Cold Steel had been a significant beneficiary of this largesse, the biggest being the concession on agri-products throughout the lower Congo river system, and the concessions on mined minerals in the Kasai river system and the Mutumbi mountains.

These concessions were something of a mixed blessing. The territories were either completely undeveloped or left in chaos by the excesses of their predecessors. Ironic since a good portion of the chaos had been supplied and encouraged by Cold Steel. Now faced with a big opportunity requiring equally big investment, Cold Steel's management had chosen to go public on the Imperial stock exchange.

On the one hand, this was as good a time as any. Cold Steel was showing a profit, and had just been handed some very potent concessions, and they had discovered gold just a few weeks prior. I was sure, if properly managed, they would be able to raise a large amount of capital from the public. On the other hand, it would also draw a large amount of scrutiny.

In the end, I decided to approve it for two reasons. First, if the executives of Cold Steel weren't worried about the additional scrutiny, then I wouldn't be either. After all, I had told them to use their best judgement.

The second reason was the new Congo garrison commander, Brigadier General Lergen. While we may have butted heads occasionally, I had nothing but respect for the man's efficiency and law-abiding nature. In fact, Cold Steel's own report asked for advice on how to deal with this zealous new enforcer of the law, and how his attention was forcing them to curtail some 'business arrangements'.

Smirking, I penned a letter ordering them to cooperate fully with Lergen. Curtailing their illegal activities was exactly what I wanted. I was not at all above using Lergen as a club to bludgeon the reprobates into behaving. How I'd been so foolish as to hire such crooks, I don't know. I'd fire them, except they remained annoyingly effective when they weren't playing fast and loose with the law. So instead I decided to force them to cooperate with one of the most law-abiding men I know. Hopefully they'll realize they don't need to indulge in criminal activity to turn a profit.

I was just putting away my day's correspondence when I noticed Visha waiting by my office door. This was unusual, as I had long since given her permission to let herself in.

"Yes, Visha, what is it?"

She approached me and shyly held out a small open box. Contained within it were some white and brown lumps that looked a bit like chocolate. At my raised eyebrow, she blushed prettily and said, "Well...er...ma'am… I was talking to some of the other people on the islands, and apparently the Albish have this celebration on this day called Valentine's Day? And, you're supposed to give presents to someone you care about… and chocolate is traditional… and I made these myself…"

By this point, her face was red as a tomato, and I could feel my own face heating up. _How did this happen?!_

Even in my last life, I'd never known what to do about Valentine's Day. Especially in high school, girls that I'd barely spoken to would come and give me gifts, leaving me completely lost as to how to respond. The weeks between Valentine's Day and White Day would be spent in constant anxiety as I racked my brains for an appropriate response. At least the Empire didn't recognize the event, and so I'd thought myself free from that source of stress.

And yet, against all reason, here was Visha, having been infected by this idiotic holiday. What was worse was that unlike the girls in my school, Visha was someone I actually cared about. I couldn't afford to take this situation lightly, but I had no idea what it meant for a girl to offer chocolates to another girl on this day. Well, yes, there was the obvious answer, but this wasn't the 21st century and I wasn't about to indulge in wishful thinking.

Just then, fortune intervened in the form of an aircraft engine. Looking up at the sound, I reflexively used a spell to zoom in on the craft. "It's the Sea Duck!" I exclaimed, a note of genuine relief in my voice.

The Sea Duck, so named by Emilie Ernest, was the flying boat she had gone off in along with the fake king. That was three months ago, and I couldn't deny watching it return was an enormous weight off my mind. Even better, it gave me the perfect excuse to get out of this awkward conversation. Visha seemed briefly upset, but even for her, curiosity won out over clinging to some secondhand ritual.

Alas, my persona as a reclusive leper meant I couldn't rush down to the pier the way I wanted. Instead the two of us got the house ready to receive guests and we donned our respective disguises in case Emilie was accompanied by anyone.

Within a few minutes, Emilie had arrived at our place. She must have rushed here as soon as she docked, which meant she had something urgent to report, presumably something to do with the several packages she carried. She was also alone, so once she was inside we dispensed with our disguises.

I fixed Emilie with a stern glare as I remarked, "You're late."

She gave a confident smile. "Sorry, boss. But getting the king crowned and collecting our reward took a bit more doing than I expected."

I stared. "You… crowned him?"

"Yeah, King of the Ashanti, just like you said! It was quite a celebration!"

"And… no one objected?"

"Just a few… but they were shown to be Albish collaborators, so they were gotten rid of right quick. Everyone else was real pleased to get their king back."

"And that's what took you so long?"

"Nah, that took only a few weeks. They rest of the time was spent arming and training the Ashanti."

"Arming and training?"

"Well, it was no good crowning the king if the Albish just exiled him again. So Koenig and the boys had fun leading the Commonwealth Army on a merry chase, while I got in touch with Cold Steel."

"I thought I said not to use company resources."

"No problem, I wasn't drawing anything from them. I just arranged an arms sale from them to the Ashanti. It happened at a great time too. Apparently some busybody General was really putting the screws to the weapons trade in the Congo, so Cold Steel was sitting on this big pile of high-end gear that they were happy to get rid of."

"You don't say," I said faintly.

"Yes, ma'am. Speaking of, here's this great little toy that's the latest thing out of Colombia. I got enough for all of us."

So saying, Emilie opened up the larger packages. Visha leaned forward curiously, before picking up the revealed weapon. "A handgun?" she muttered. "No, the design is a bit off. It's like…"

"A machine pistol." The words left my lips without conscious prompting. No one from my world could possibly mistake the compact pistol-shape combined with a shoulder stock and an extended magazine.

Emilie looked deeply impressed. "How'd you know that's what it was called?"

"Lucky guess."

"Oh, so it's a rapid-fire pistol?" asked Visha.

"Yes! Apparently the idea came from your American friends in Velvet Iron Protection. They wanted a rapid fire weapon for city fighting, but they wanted something lighter and cheaper than the Thompsons, light enough to shoot one-handed. So some American gunmakers got together with Colombian ordnance, and they came up with this beauty. They call it the M29 Scorpion. It fires a short nine millimeter at 750 rounds a minute, and carries twenty in the magazine. Also got a selector so you can fire it semi-auto like a regular pistol."

I wondered how on earth Lena's reports failed to mention them developing a machine pistol, but then I remembered a line item labeled 'equipment development'. I really needed to ask for more details.

Tuning back into the conversation, I found myself agreeing with Visha to find some place to try out our new toys. However, the excitement over the new weaponry couldn't distract me for long from the rest of what I had heard.

I really should have known better than to trust the battle maniacs of the 203rd. Instead of dropping off the conman and leaving, they'd actually gone and crowned him king, and eliminated anyone who objected! I could only console myself that it would be only a matter of time before the Albish got rid of him. After all, how long could a ragtag bunch of primitives armed with barely adequate weaponry hold out against one of the world's superpowers?

While I was thinking, Emilie had continued with the rest of her report. Apparently they had given the Ashanti basic training in their new weapons while bamboozling the Albish troops, and then they'd collected their promised reward from the new king and headed back.

"Wait, what reward?"

Emilie gave another wide smile as she opened up the last, smallest package.

There is something about gold, a luster, something so unmistakable that even someone who's never seen it before will instinctively recognize it. What Emilie presented was a slim bar small enough to fit into my hand. It was not perfectly smooth, being a bit rough around the edges with a crudely stamped crest.

"The Ashanti don't really have a standardized bullion or anything, so I had them mold the gold into kilo bars, and as pure as they could get it. We'll probably need a proper bank to evaluate and cash them in."

"Wow," whispered Visha. "How much did you get?"

"As much as the plane could hold and still make the trip, so about 400 kilos." It was at this point Emilie grew a little concerned. "Ah, this wasn't all of it, but since I couldn't bring it anyway, I told the others they could keep it. Was that all right?"

"It's perfectly fine…" I replied vaguely, my mind occupied trying to calculate the value of what Emilie had dragged along.

Visha was thinking along the same lines. "400 kilos of gold… how much is that?" she whispered.

Emilie had more time than any of us to think about it. She replied promptly, "Gold's fixed at around 83 marks to the troy ounce...so around 1.2 million marks, depending on the purity."

Right. That put it into perspective. Three hundred thousand US dollars might sound like a lot, but it was tied up in 400 kilos of metal. My net worth was several times that, and I didn't have to cart around almost half a ton of weight. Gold? Hah! Give me high denomination banknotes any day.

"Turning this into actual money without having it traced back to us will be tricky... Wait, Emilie, you didn't take the Sea Duck all the way to the Gold Coast, right?"

"Right. Only up to Mzizima."

"So you had to first cart the 400 kilos all the way across Central Africa. How did you do that?"

"Stuck it in crates labeled scrap metal and had Cold Steel send it by rail, no problem."

I paled. "Emilie, General Lergen is investigating Cold Steel."

"So?"

"So? So! Do you really think someone as intelligent as him would be fooled by such a transparent ruse? I guarantee your activities have not gone unnoticed. He's probably tracing your movements even as we speak."

"Well... Seychelles is Albish territory, isn't it?"

"We already know how much the Empire respects international borders where I am concerned. And unlike Colombia, there's not a single mage stationed to the Seychelles."

Visha and Emilie were both pale, having realized the gravity of the situation. "What do we do?" asked Visha.

"First, that gold is dead weight. Emilie, is it still in Cold Steel crates?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then fly it back to Mzizima, and then escort it back to the Congo. I'll send orders from here. Cold Steel recently discovered a gold mine. That mine is going to start producing a little earlier than expected."

"Understood!"

"Also, Emilie? That gold is not worth any of our lives or freedom. Get it off your hands as soon as you can. Dump it in the ocean if you have to. And warn the others!"

"Yes ma'am!"

"I and Visha will be bugging out as well. We'll use contact plan three to re-establish communications."

"I understand. And I'm really sorry about this, ma'am."

"Don't be sorry, soldier. Be better!"

Once Emilie was on her way, Visha and I started packing. I could tell she was sad about having to leave our beautiful little island. I know I was. I tried to cheer her up. "Look on the bright side, Visha. At least all that contingency planning didn't go to waste."

"You don't have to sound so happy," she pouted, but I could see the smile struggling to break free. The girl really was a thrill seeker at heart. "So, which plan will we use?"

I thought about it. "All things considered, and considering how many people Emilie's latest escapade managed to annoy, I think Plan Four."

"Four? Francois territory?"

"But of course. The last place anyone will look for me. I trust you can speak the language?"

"My mother was raising me for court before we had to flee Russy. I learned all the important languages," she replied.

"Is that why your Albish was so terrible when we first met?"

"As I said, I learned all the _important_ languages," she said in her haughtiest tone.

We both shared a laugh at that, before we turned our attention to our preparations. Within an hour, the leper and her companion would be boarding their private boat. Within three, we would be in a new disguise, headed in a completely different direction. Next stop, Djibouti.


	29. Chapter 29

_A\N: I am pleased to announce I have a couple of adult oriented threads now up in Questionable Questing under the username Gremlin Jack, including an uncensored version of this story. The adults among you, feel free to check them out!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 29**

**March 11, 1930, Reina del Angel, Unified States**

Joe Barrow and Samantha Young shared a long-suffering look. None of them had thought it would be easy chaperoning a high spirited teenager around the decadent world of the movie industry. Samantha in particular had long bitter experiences of this particular teenager from her African expedition. But when their orders included preserving the virtue of a girl who had more experience of the seedy side of life than most gangsters twice her age... well, even Barrow was smart enough to recognize a fool's errand when he got handed one.

The only saving grace had been the travel time between New York and Reina del Angel, which meant their charge Jenny Brown could only spend a few days in the city before she had to go back to New York at the end of spring break.

It would help, Samantha felt, if Jenny hadn't taken it as a challenge to see just how many scandals she could create in the few days she had. Jenny's first trip to Reina del Angel, during winter break, was almost a fond memory. Then she had been too busy with auditioning for Hughes' latest movies to get into too much trouble.

The purpose of this trip, however, was to give Hughes a chance to show off his newest star to various executives and producers - the actual shooting would wait until summer. This meant on her very first day in the city, Jenny had disappeared on Hughes' arm while leaving Samantha and Joe to fight off the crowd trying to follow the pair.

When Jenny had met up with them the next morning, she insisted she hadn't actually had sex with the man, just some 'harmless fun'. But considering how Hughes filed for divorce that very day, Samantha and Joe were both skeptical. The local tabloids were more than skeptical, they were downright accusatory. Not that it slowed down Jenny for a moment. Which led to today, and yet another gala, with Jenny once more on John Hughes' arm.

Well, this time Samantha and Joe weren't going to be fobbed off so easily on crowd control. They could already expect a chewing out from Miss Lydia for letting Jenny out of their sight that first night, they were not going to allow her to make a fool of them a second time. As soon as the gala ended, Joe used his imposing bulk to power through the crowd and get Hughes off Jenny's arm with the sheer force of his glare. The minute he did, Samantha had captured Jenny's hand in her own, and was guiding her towards a cab kept waiting just for them.

To both their relief, Jenny only laughed and didn't resist. At least Samantha could report that whatever Jenny was doing with Hughes, the girl hadn't fallen for the notorious playboy. As the cab traveled through the streets, Joe muttered, "We're being followed."

Jenny glanced behind. "Reporter," she remarked. "Persistent bugger. Seen that car following me around for days."

"Yeah, I recognize it," replied Samantha. That particular reporter was indeed persistent, but was smart enough to keep enough distance that neither she nor Joe had reason to have words with the man.

"Well, I need something to eat," Jenny said. "Those old fogies at the gala kept me so busy gabbing I could barely get a bite. I know a decent pub a few blocks over, come on."

Half an hour later saw them finishing up some decent steak sandwiches and beer when a lone pretty well-dressed woman sat down at the next table over and ordered wine. Then this woman looked around, caught sight of them, and immediately started giving Jenny a death glare.

Samantha took a second look and groaned. She couldn't believe their luck, they'd managed to find a seat right next to Ella Rice, the former Mrs. Hughes.

Jenny must have recognized her as well, because she grinned and skipped over to the woman's table. "Hey Ella, fancy meeting you here," she said cheerfully as she slid into a seat next to the woman.

"Jenny," came the frosty response. "Where's John?"

"Eh, ditched him."

"Really? Color me surprised. I mean, you must have been something special. One night with you and he's filing for divorce the next day."

Jenny snickered. "Aw, you really think that? I mean, you really think sleeping with him would actually do shit? Even when I came by last winter I been hearing all about his girlfriends. None of them got him to file. Naw, if I'd slept with him he'd prolly do jack."

"Oh? Then what?"

"Told him in very clear terms that I ain't got time for boys who can't keep their word. Real men mean it when they commit. Didn't expect him to go out and get a divorce though." Jenny gave a little laugh. "I hope he don't expect to get into my pants that way."

"You're saying you're not interested?"

"Oh I am, a little bit. Ain't decided yet. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Not gonna make it easy for him, though."

The woman stared at Jenny for a moment, then shook her head. "It's your life. I don't even know why I'm upset. It's not like I wasn't thinking of filing myself. Bastard just beat me to it." She looked up and gave a groan. "Good god a reporter here of all places. Thank goodness I'm heading back to Houston next week, those rats are the one thing I won't miss about this town."

Jenny snickered. "He's got his camera ready in case we start a cat-fight." Her gaze sharpened and she leaned in. "Hey Ella, I kinda feel bad about all this. So, want to mess with John?"

"Oh?"

"I say we give Nosey there something worth taking a picture of."

"I am not starting a fight with you."

"Good, 'cos I'd kick yer ass. No, I was thinking, all the papers are saying John dumped you for me. What say we give 'em a different reason?" As she was speaking, Jenny's hand reached under the table and rested on Ella's thigh.

The woman stiffened, "You cannot be serious."

"Like a heart attack."

"That's absolutely scandalous…"

Jenny's grin was predatory as she leaned in. "That's not a no." Further objections were cut off as she gripped the woman's neck and pulled her in for a kiss, full on the mouth. She held it long enough for the photographer's flash to light the room, then released the speechless lady. "Have a good life, Ella. See ya in the funny papers."

As Jenny and her bodyguards left the pub, Samantha spoke in a voice of suffering, "What. Was. The point. Of that?"

"Well, one thing, I was curious. Big sis seemed to be havin' such a great time with her lady friend, I wanted to see what there was to it." shrugged Jenny.

"And your verdict?" came the dry response.

"Might be fun sometime, still like guys more."

"Praise be. And the other reasons?"

"You been paying any attention to these new regulations on films that this joker Hays been pushing? 'Arenne' couldn't've been shot the way it was if that ass had been around. I figure, if they're gonna be all holier than thou, then I'm gonna really give 'em something to get their knickers in a twist over."

"Thumbing your nose at the powers that be. Of course."

"Well, that, and I figure John could use a little more shaking up to his worldview," snickered Jenny. "And since we're back to New York starting tomorrow, I figure he'll have all the way till summer to stew over it."

"And if he drops you like a hot potato?"

"Then Lydia will be happy. Win-win, huh?"

* * *

**March 22, 1930, Djibouti, Republican Somaliland**

I had to admit, speaking with a Russy accent came easier than expected. Perhaps it was all the time I'd spent around Visha. The matter was complicated slightly by the fact I was speaking Francois, but since I'd used Visha to help me brush up on the language, speaking it in a Russy accent now felt almost natural.

A more difficult matter was lowering my voice to sound like a man. Perhaps I shouldn't have bothered, but now that I had finally touched five feet in height, I couldn't resist the chance to pass myself off as male, if a rather short one. Luckily, years of screaming over a battlefield had lent my voice a rasp that could, with a bit of effort, be turned to this purpose.

"Ah, here comes Svetlana. Put it down, dear, and take a seat." I said, as Visha in her current guise came in carrying a carafe of coffee and three cups.

This particular form of Visha was the closest yet to her natural state, the biggest difference being the strawberry blonde hair replacing her brown locks and a few subtle adjustments to her face. Combined with the very tight and expensive skirt and low-cut blouse, she looked magnificently tempting.

As she set the refreshments down on the table, she very deliberately leaned forward, giving me a clear look down her decolletage. Judging by his flushed face, my distinguished guest had also been caught as collateral damage. I didn't even bother pretending not to enjoy the view, and merely smirked as Visha caught my eye and gave me a saucy smile.

As she turned away from the table, some of the napkins fluttered to the ground. With a soft "Merci", she smoothly bent over and started to pick them up, her delectable derriere strategically pointed at me and my guest.

Tearing my gaze away from the view, I glanced at the gentleman opposite me, and found myself mildly concerned at his purpling face. The idea was to distract him, not give him a stroke. Reaching out, I gave a sharp slap to her rump. "Sit down already!"

Visha immediately jerked straight with an "Eeep!" before pouting at me. "Oh Boris, you beast!" Then she flounced around to sit down next to me, wrapping herself around my arm.

I should note that until my arrival in Djibouti I'd never witnessed a woman _flounce_ in either life, let alone expect Visha to be so skilled at it.

Ignoring the pouting woman on my arm, I gave my guest my friendliest smile. "Women. Never where you want them to be. Am I right, m'Lord Governor?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," came the suave reply from the middle-aged debonair. "In fact, I would say any location would be blessed to contain this delightful creature."

A vapid giggle escaped Visha. "Oh my Lord Governor, you're so sweet! Not at all like this terrible boor who beats me at the drop of a hat!"

"Oh, just wait till we're alone and I'll really give you something to squeal about."

"Ooh, promise?!"

I gave an exaggerated sigh. "Please forgive her, sir. I'm not as young as I used to be and this minx is insatiable."

"Not at all," came the magnanimous response. "Any true man's first duty must be to satisfy his woman, or how can we call ourselves men?"

We shared a smile of understanding between us, two aging but worldly gentlemen that could still show the youngsters a thing or two about pleasing a woman.

Inside, I couldn't help but feel Visha was having way too much fun with all of this. The identity I'd developed was that of a middle-aged _boyar_ who'd fled the Communist Revolution and was now a wealthy globe-trotting businessman, accompanied by his significant other. So far so good. But the idea to make the man an unrepentant lecher and to turn his lady companion into a flirty mistress less than half his age? That was all Visha.

During the weeks we'd spent traveling and establishing ourselves, the hardest part of our new identity was to make our flirting and physical shows of affection look natural. Visha seemed to get a positive thrill out of being as blatantly enticing as possible. I could tell she was pleased to have a chance to let her wild side off the leash. I, on the other hand, had to train myself not to be surprised by her provocations, as well as respond in kind. I can only imagine what my parents would have said if they ever saw their son grope a woman in public.

Not that it wasn't fun for me as well. After two lifetimes of carefully maintained dignity, donning such a crude persona was an entertaining change of pace. The real trouble came from the people around us.

First of course, there was Visha. Even with her normal demure personality, her natural good looks would draw its share of attention. Dressed to kill and throwing come-hithers left and right, she'd drawn a train of drooling fools from one end of the city to the other. Fortunately, it was one of the little hypocrisies of society that a man may have a wandering eye while still demanding fidelity from his partner, so no one raised an eyebrow whenever I would drag 'Svetlana' off in a fit of possessiveness. In fact, I was worried at how easily acting like a jealous lover came to me. Breaking that habit would be a pain once we left these identities behind.

My own situation was sometimes worse. As a short loud crude 45 year old man, you'd think the best reaction I'd get from the women around me would be a few pity chuckles at my inveterate flirting. Instead, far too many times, I'd found women ranging from debutantes younger than Visha to married women almost my illusory age responding to my advances with eagerness rather than disgust. I sometimes wondered if I'd managed to stumble across every desperate woman in this city of 20,000.

Watching me extricate myself from my own unasked for success with the ladies provided Visha with a constant source of amusement. However, one lady proved particularly persistent, a personage no less than the Republican garrison commander's thirty year old wife. For a while I feared I'd have to flee Djibouti entirely, but then Visha came back from a private meeting with the woman to assure me she was no longer interested. Visha refused to elaborate on what had occurred, but the next time we saw the woman she took one look at Visha, blushed furiously, and fled in the opposite direction.

Romantic misadventures aside, our latest disguises had worked out quite well. The European population of the city had immediately accepted us for who we were, and one advantage of being openly rich during an international depression is that the city's notables were falling over themselves to ingratiate themselves with us. Alas, part of passing myself off as a businessman meant when people started talking business, I had to at least pretend to pay attention.

My current situation had started from a conversation at a party between an executive of the Franco-Abyssinian Railway and a manager of a coffee trading company. The railway executive wanted the coffee company to increase trade volume so their trains didn't run empty, and the coffee manager said there simply wasn't enough demand to justify it. I had casually asked why the coffee company couldn't try and increase demand through aggressive marketing, trade deals, and lowered prices. This had triggered a long litany of woes from both men, and I couldn't resist the intellectual challenge of trying to find some way of solving their problems.

Unfortunately, desperate people also tend to be clingy. Once they realized I might have something approaching a workable idea, they were practically throwing themselves at my feet. Before I knew it, I was being promoted in local business circles as the man with the plan to save the city. And considering how much the brash Boris had talked up his globe-spanning wheeling-dealings, it would have drawn more attention if I'd rejected the extremely favorable deals I was being offered.

All that rigmarole led directly to today's meeting with the Governor of Djibouti. I was here for one very important reason - to convince the man to get rid of the ridiculously high tariff on Abyssinian agricultural products.

A significant chunk of Djibouti's income came from duties levied on Abyssinian goods, as the port was currently Abyssinia's primary gateway to the sea. Recently, thanks to the global depression, trade volume had shrunk significantly. Combine that with slashed budgets thanks to the war the Republic lost, and the colonial administration was badly feeling the pinch.

Convincing a man to further reduce his income when he was already losing money is tricky, but I was confident. The current tariff regime might have been acceptable when the world as a whole had more money to spend, but thanks to the depression markets for certain commodities had become very price-sensitive. The best way to promote a rapid growth in volume would be to cut prices, and reducing duties on the products would be a good first step.

Now that Visha's opening salvo had softened the man up, I started talking numbers. I had fairly concrete figures I could quote on how much potential sales volume was being lost due to the artificially high price point created by the current tariffs. I painted a very rosy picture of the veritable flood of goods that would flow through the port if only the business climate was made a bit more favorable. Not to mention the indirect benefits from increased productivity and employment.

I also pointed out the opportunity for drawing more investment. I promised the Governor that the Railway was ready and waiting to expand the Djibouti-Addis Ababa rail line further west into the Abyssinian agricultural belts, greatly increasing the volume of trade. And I declared that there were companies already interested in aggressively marketing khat to the Middle East and Europe, if only they could get access to the product in sufficient bulk at competitive prices.

Khat was something new to me - a plant whose leaves produced a mildly addictive narcotic that had an effect best described as super-coffee. It was little known in the west but was somewhat popular in the Arabian Peninsula, a surprising fact as this world's Middle East had its own version of Islam in all its restrictive, conservative, misogynistic glory.

I didn't care about the details, but I was certain a suitable marketing campaign could see this drug take off in Europe. If the Albish could do it to Qinese, I pointed out, then there's no reason we couldn't do it to the Albish and the Imperials.

As I had suspected, the Francois gentleman had an eager gleam in his eye at the thought of subjecting the hated Empire to their own Opium Crisis. I did not burst his bubble by reminding him that khat was so mild in its effects that it barely qualified as a narcotic. Or that I fully intended to include Francois in the coverage when they brought khat to Europe.

After pondering over my sales pitch, he remarked, "A lot of these plans rely on expanding the railway lines and the flow of goods from Abyssinia."

"Which is why my next stop is Addis Ababa to speak to King Tafari. The Railway has already secured me an invitation. The man is committed to modernizing his country, he ought to jump at the chance to boost his national infrastructure," I replied.

"Hmm, yes, that is another thing. Where is the Railway going to get the money for all this? I doubt the Abyssinians will be good for much."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll do their best. And what they can't cover… well, there's a reason I'm set to become a big stockholder."

The Governor laughed. "And thus is explained your sudden enthusiasm for lowered tariffs!"

"Well, what can I say? I'm a man who puts his money where his mouth is. I told them it could be done, and I got a few million francs I'm willing to put down on it. If my plan works, you'll make money, I'll make money, the merchants will make money, the Railway will make money. Hell, even the Abyssinians might pick up some change. But the first step has to come from the Government."

He hemmed and hawed a bit, but ultimately an agreement was struck. The moment work started on expanding the railway line west of Addis Ababa would be the moment the colony's import and export duties would undergo significant revision. As I foresaw, the Franco-Abyssinian Railway was just too important to Djibouti's prosperity. The prospect of a big investment into the company was too valuable to ignore.

Of course, I didn't tell him about the steep discount the Railway was offering me on their stock - my consultant's fee, as it were. It didn't really matter if trade picked up the way I'd promised, as long as it wasn't a complete failure I stood to break even on the deal. And that wasn't even counting all the other concerns that stood to benefit from lowered duties, and all of whom had offered me the most generous lobbyist's fees.

Admittedly, these fees were generous only on paper, coming as they did mostly in the form of stock in a truly random assortment of businesses, most of whom were on the verge of bankruptcy. It did however get me the space I needed to form a holding company to organize the various khat traders under one banner. That company would eventually sell out to Sunrise Botanicals and hopefully the Colombian company's expertise in international drug-dealing would translate to a wider global acceptance of the plant. Not, as I explained to Visha that evening, that I particularly cared if any of this succeeded or not. It was all just to maintain my cover, and as long as I didn't lose too much money on the deal I didn't care what happened.

"You just can't turn it off, can you?"

"Turn what off?" I looked up at Visha from where I was resting my head in her lap. My current position was all part of our persona of Boris and Svetlana, as Visha had insisted the need to never fully drop our characters. I'd never realized she was such a devotee of method acting, but one couldn't argue with the results.

"All this. Our plan was to quietly blend in with the well-off European community and lay low while we wait for the others to get in touch. And yet tomorrow we're on our way to an audience with an African King as you get ready to rewrite the entire country's economic policy."

"Might I remind you that it is you who proposed Boris' aggressive attitude? All this is just in keeping with his personality!"

"Even then, you didn't have to work on this nearly as hard as you have. You could have simply put in a token effort, have the governor turn you down, and then gone back to the regular social circuit. Instead you've been running pillar to post for the last two weeks making sure everything is perfect."

"Well, so many people had already paid me, I think they'd have been a bit put out if I phoned it in."

"You're the one who told me most of those fees weren't worth the paper they were written on. No, your trouble is you have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility."

I scoffed. A sense of responsibility? I literally hadn't cared if my country won the war, as long as my health and safety could be assured. Since I couldn't say that out loud, I instead said, "Do you remember that I'm even now planning to further expand a company that makes most of its money through the international dealing of forbidden drugs? Or that the very first company I founded has a client list comprised almost exclusively of criminals?"

"That just raises another question: Why are you still doing all this? You're already rich. You can do anything! Go anywhere!"

"I'm an internationally wanted fugitive, Visha. Everything I have could be taken away at a whim the first time they figure out where I keep my stash. It's why I can't afford to get complacent." I reached up and took Visha's hand within my own. Taking a deep breath, I screwed up my courage and gave voice to the question that I'd been afraid to ask for a while now. "And what about you Visha? You're a millionaire now. And not wanted by the Empire. You could go back home. To your friends, your family…" I had to pause a moment to keep my voice from choking. The mere thought of losing her hurt, but it had to be said. "You'd be rich, successful, and safe. You don't need me anymore. So why are you still here?"

It was true as well. When I'd given the order to Emilie to pass off the fake king's very real gold as product from Cold Steel's mines, I hadn't anticipated the effect it would have on Cold Steel's stock as the company went public in the Empire. The estimates I'd read had so ridiculously overvalued the stock that I'd had no choice - I ordered the liquidation of Manpower's shares. Not only would it reduce my exposure to my one company most blatantly involved in illegal activity, but it would give me a magnificent nest egg that I could then reinvest in hopefully legal activities.

Visha, loyal as ever, had immediately followed my lead. A little over a year ago, I'd given her around 280,000 marks worth of Cold Steel's shares. We wouldn't know the exact figures for a while yet, but at the most conservative estimate her shares will now sell for 1.2 million.

"And what would I do if I left? I'm not going back to the army. I don't feel like going back to school. I'm not going to start companies on a whim like you do…"

"Hey!"

"No Tanya. My place is always with you." As I struggled to say something, Visha giggled. "Besides, how many girls get to meet an African king? Thanks to you I'm going to meet two!"

The massive surge of relief left me laughing as well. No matter what, an adrenaline junkie is an adrenaline junkie. Given the enthusiasm with which she'd thrown herself into our latest subterfuge, I could easily understand why a safe life as a rich socialite would not appeal.

Suddenly, she was lowering her face until we were only inches apart, and I could see the amusement dancing in her deep blue eyes. "Now, we have some work to do. _You_ need practice."

"Practice?"

"Kissing, of course. Boris has been kissing Svetlana far too chastely in public. These are Francois, a quick peck on the lips isn't enough, you need to make it convincing."

And suddenly, I was very very glad I'd let Visha talk me into this role. For the rest of the evening I barely had time for further complex thought. I did however wonder if, given Visha's dedication to her role, she might not enjoy a career as an actress.

I immediately made a resolution to keep Visha far away from Hughes. That playboy would undoubtedly jump at the chance to steal her for his movies. Who knows what sort of unsavory things he might convince her to do in the name of playing her role. Thankfully he couldn't bribe her, but I still resolved to make sure Visha would never think she could have a more exciting time as an actress than as my adjutant.

* * *

**March 24, 1930, Ila Rouge, Seychelles**

"Absolutely gorgeous isn't it? And completely out of sight from the rest of the island. You wouldn't expect it from an aerial mage, but Degurechaff has quite the eye for terrain."

Mary grudgingly nodded her head. Elya was right. Thanks to the way the jungle had grown, combined with the placement of the house, this short stretch of beach was all but invisible except from the water right in front or from the air.

"I can't believe she was hiding out in a leper colony of all places," Mary growled, before asking in a hopeful tone, "Think there's any chance she actually caught something?"

"Doubt it, she and Visha seemed to have kept to themselves. Not much chance of exposure. Besides," Elya turned to give Mary a teasing smirk. "You realize if she did catch something, then far from arresting her, we'd probably be ordered to ship her right back here?" Elya raised her hand to show an expensive-looking bottle. "I mean, just look what I found in the pantry! Wouldn't be much of a punishment, would it?"

Mary scowled at the bottle for a moment, then huffed. "You know what? Fine. If it means she can't hurt anyone again, I'd be OK with her spending the rest of her life on a beach drinking wine."

Elya blinked. "What? Really?!"

"You don't need to sound so surprised. While I'd like to see her up in front of a firing squad, I'll settle for island exile. So long as she's no longer a threat. Ack! Roth!" Mary squawked as Elya suddenly hugged her.

"Aww, look at you all grown up and mature! Soon you'll be figuring out what boys are for!"

"Roth, I swear if you don't let me go I'll break that bottle over your skull!"

Elya immediately let go, clutching the bottle to her chest. "You wouldn't! Do you have any idea what this is?!"

"Wine?"

"It is a genuine Imperial late harvest _riesling_! Do you have any idea what a bottle of this stuff goes for in Berun, let alone all the way out here?"

"More than the two of us make in a month?"

"Good guess." Elya pulled a couple of glasses out of her pocket with a grin. "Shame to let it go to waste."

"You cannot be serious. You want to drink something from _here_?"

Elya snorted. "Contrary to popular superstition, leprosy is not contagious…"

"I don't mean that. I mean you want to drink something from the kitchen of a girl known for, among other things, booby-trapping corpses."

"And we very carefully checked for booby-traps before entering the place. I mean think about it, which do you think she'd go for? Opening a bottle, poisoning it, and then resealing it so carefully I can't see any tampering? Or simply rigging the house to blow? Ah, there we go." Elya smiled as she popped the cork.

"You go first, I'll watch."

Elya rolled her eyes before sitting down on a deckchair and pouring herself a glass. Following which she immediately kicked off her shoes and put up her feet as she sipped her drink. Sighing at her partner's antics, Mary sat down on a chair next to her and turned to take in the view.

After a minute of quiet contemplation, Elya spoke up. "You know Mary, I think I'm beginning to understand your hatred for Degurechaff."

Mary blinked. "I'm… happy for you?"

"I mean just look at where we're sitting. These chairs, this view. The table, perfectly positioned so two people in these chairs can rest their drinks on it. The drink itself. Can't you just see it? We've been sweating our way through jungle camps and mining towns for months, while those two have been kicking back on this beach downing a small country's budget in fancy booze and soaking up the sun. Dammit, we're going to have to update their descriptions to include suntans, aren't we?" Turning big sad eyes on Mary, Elya asked, "You ever think we got into the wrong line of work?"

Mary gave a tired sigh as she leaned back in her own chair. "Every day since I met you, Roth."

"Marryyy," came the childish whine.

Mary didn't reply immediately, focusing on the bright blue ocean as she gathered her thoughts. "So, what's going to happen with the Ashanti? Do you think General Lergen will try to stop Cold Steel from supplying the rebellion?"

"Going to be tricky. Word is, Berun is seriously considering recognizing them as a separate state. It's a great chance to pry a colony away from the Commonwealth. The Empire's always been sore about losing out on the race for Africa."

"And the gold? I mean, we've got pretty solid proof that Degurechaff got paid a ton of the stuff for restoring the Ashanti king. And Cold Steel's gold mine starts producing right after? That cannot be a coincidence."

"Oh, I'm sure Lergen's pushing for a mining fraud investigation. But that's going to take months, and it doesn't actually get us closer to Degurechaff. I mean, do you know how much Cold Steel's stock shot up by when that first batch of gold came out? She probably made more money off her stocks than the gold."

"Any way we can trace her activities through the stocks?"

"Not sure. But I do know financial fraud is the most frustrating thing to investigate. Especially when so much stock has changed hands through private rather than public sales. For all we know, someone in the Royal Family now owns Cold Steel stock sold to them by Degurechaff."

Mary stared at Elya, then started chortling. "Oh my god, she would, wouldn't she? She would absolutely sell the Kaiser fraudulent stock while implicating him in a scam."

Elya snickered as well. "She already managed to get the last Chancellor booted from office and replaced with one sympathetic to her. Wonder who's going to be caught in the blast radius when this scam breaks."

"Still, none of this gets us Degurechaff."

"No, it does not."

There was another long moment of silence. Then Mary spoke. "We're going to Berun, aren't we?"

Elya gave a long drawn out groan. "We're going to be stuck forever in stuffy offices tracing stock movements."

"Well, we'll have help. The Captain says the Interpol team working in the Congo have finished for now, and they're interested in tagging along."

"So we'll be stuck tracing stocks in stuffy offices with a bunch of frogs, while Degurechaff is most likely living the high life in some tropical paradise. _Wunderbar_." Elya pouted at the horizon for a second, then decisively leaped to her feet and started shedding her clothes.

"Roth, what the hell?"

"We have nowhere to be right now, some fantastic wine, and a private fucking beach. I am going to even out my tan, at least then I'll have something to show for all this effort." Elya gave Mary a grin. "You should try it you know. With weather this great the only covering you need is as nature intended."

Mary got to her feet and headed back to the house. "Hey, where are you going?" Elya called after her.

"To find some more bottles!"

* * *

**March 29, 1930, a small village in northern Abyssinia**

Of all the things I've done since first embarking on my career as a fugitive, I never thought I'd willingly set foot on another battlefield.

And yet, Being X be cursed, here I was. When Visha and I arrived in Addis Ababa a few days back, it was to find a nation about to fight a civil war. Apparently, the Empress' consort was deeply disgruntled that the charismatic King Tafari had been steadily sidelining the aging Empress. One couldn't even argue he was wrong, seeing as how I was in the country to negotiate with the King and not the Empress. So just a few days ago, he finally decided he'd had enough, gathered his army, and had declared a march on the capital. King Tafari had promptly responded by gathering his own army and marched out to face him in the field.

The idea that the Empress' Consort and the King could mobilize sizable armies without even the formality of consulting the Empress might sound absurd to modern minds, but Abyssinia currently enjoyed the dubious pleasure of having a functioning feudal government - complete with aristocratic armies, serfdom and slavery. As a final absurdity, the Empress had to formally declare her own husband a rebel since Tafari was her legally recognized heir.

No wonder the educated and widely travelled King Tafari was so desperate to modernize his country, or why he was working so hard to supplant the extremely traditionalist Empress and her court.

While the King had my sympathies, the real reason I chose to travel all the way out to the battlefield was my paranoia about Being X. Part of the traditions that Tafari was trying to supplant was the enormous influence the Church had in Abyssinian politics. The clergy, naturally, were firm supporters of the Empress' faction. Such a situation might as well be an invitation for that wannabe deity to bless the King's enemies with a miracle on the day of battle. I didn't know how much I could do against that, but I couldn't ignore the opportunity to spit in the eye of the so-called god.

When Visha and I got to the battlefield, it didn't really look as if Tafari needed our help. He not only outnumbered and outgunned his enemy, but he also had a handful of aircraft, even if they were ancient canvas-and-wood affairs that any modern mage would have shredded. In the normal course of events I would have given him very good odds, but with the religious angle in play I decided not to take any chances.

The King, tall, bearded and well-spoken, accepted my request to meet on the eve of battle. "I am surprised that you have travelled all the way out here. Is your business so urgent that it could not await my return to the capital?" he asked in excellent Francois.

"All business is urgent, your Highness. It's the nature of business. But in this case, I am here, if you will forgive the presumption, because I saw the opportunity to do you a bit of a favor."

"And what favor is that?"

"Well your Highness, in my own experience, the best battles are won without fighting. And it is my understanding that it is _Ras_ Gugsa who is the driving force behind the opposition. Remove him, and the enemy is likely to fall apart."

"Are you suggesting an assassination?"

"Your Highness, I would never rob you of the opportunity to mete out justice to a rebel. I plan to capture him, nothing more."

"And assuming you accomplish this feat, what would you want in return?"

"Merely that you look kindly on the proposal I bring that may very well result in increased prosperity for your kingdom at large."

"How generous. Then by all means, go ahead."

"As you wish." I smiled and sent a quick subvocal communication spell to Visha where she was hovering above the enemy commander's tent, concealed behind an optical camouflage.

The Abyssinians may have had aircraft, but neither side had combat mages or magic detectors. Now that the sun had set, Visha had free run of the sky.

A few seconds later, far off in the distance, I could hear a lot of guns being fired. The King heard it too, and we both exited the tent. Out in the open air, there was no doubt the gunfire was coming from the enemy's camp. Not that I was paying much attention to that. My magic senses had already picked up the approaching signature.

Even as the King's camp stirred itself, Visha descended from the sky like a dark angel, clad in an all-black version of a standard flying uniform. Completely ignoring the frantic cries of the soldiery and the panicked waving of guns in her general direction, she landed in front of me and the King and dumped at our feet a large greying man in an elaborate military uniform. The big bearded fellow was breathing but out cold, and while I didn't recognize him, it was clear the King did. "_Ras_ Gugsa!"

"Oh good, I got the right guy," chirped Visha. Then she bounced over and draped herself over my shoulders while nuzzling my neck. "Did you miss me, Boris darling?"

"Every second, Svetlana dear. But a little decorum please, we are in the presence of royalty."

By this time, Tafari had regained his poise. "I see, a sorcerer."

"Our preferred term is mage, but yes. Svetlana here is a woman of many talents."

The King clearly had questions, but for now he also had a confused enemy to vanquish. Credit to him, he rapidly organized his subordinates into taking charge of the prisoner and breaking up Gugsa's army.

It was late that night that he once more found time to speak with us. After declaring his gratitude, he raised a point that had clearly been on his mind. "It is my understanding that the ability to fly is a closely guarded secret. While the Francois have been willing to offer magic orbs at enormous sums, none of them could confer on one the gift of flight."

"Sounds like they were either offering civilian grade orbs, or combat orbs from the last century, before the advent of flight spells."

"So, your companion's orb is a more recent device?"

I grinned and tapped my nose. "Very recent. I don't like to brag, but I do have friends who in turn have friends in very high places." Velvet Iron, after all, did have a direct line to the Colombian government.

"I don't suppose these friends could send a few combat orbs my way?"

"Certainly. If you can afford it. And also have the means to train mages to use them. And a way to find mages in your population to train in the first place. And the tools to repair and maintain them."

I saw his face growing longer with each word and I could only sympathize. Having a modern mage company would be an instant win button in a country where canvas biplanes were the pinnacle of military technology.

I tried to make him feel better. "Don't worry your Highness, if you really want I'll get you in touch with the right people. But really, mages can be overrated. I mean, they might be handy to win a war, but they do nothing to help you win the peace."

"Winning the peace? Is that why you are here?"

"Just so, your majesty. We can always talk about mages after the important business is done. Logistics and infrastructure is what your country really needs. So let's talk railroads!"


	30. Chapter 30

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 30**

**May 20, 1930, Addis Ababa, Abyssinia**

There were advantages to gaining the gratitude of a king. For one, everyone in the capital knew who you were, and knew to bend over backwards to cater to your every wish. Second, you had the king's ear, which meant you could broker all sorts of advantageous deals for you and your allies. Third, you would be living in the lap of luxury with an army of servants at your beck and call, at no cost to yourself.

There were also downsides to gaining the gratitude of a king. For one, everyone in the capital knew who you were, which included the king's enemies. Second, you had the king's ear, which meant you were inundated with shysters and sycophants hoping you could broker them an advantageous deal. Third, you were expected to live in the very luxurious accommodations the king assigned to you, including an army of servants eager to spy on you both for the king and for anyone else willing to slip them a bribe.

In particular, securing my mail became a nightmare. For over six weeks now, I and Visha have had to hand-deliver our letters to and from the telegraph and post offices, and stand over the workers to ensure no one kept a copy.

Luckily, most of my correspondence involved the businessmen of Djibouti and our efforts to improve trade between the port and Abyssinia. I didn't care who knew about these missives, since I had already technically succeeded the moment the king gave his approval to the expansion of the Franco-Abyssinian rail line. The governor had kept his word and cut back on duties, trade was already picking up, and my railway shares were looking quite healthy.

So I couldn't help but occasionally ask myself: _Why was I still here?_

In the end, I could only conclude Visha had a point when she said I had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. It would explain why when King Tafari asked me to advise him on the modernization of the Royal Army, I stayed behind and did my best to streamline his procurement process instead of simply handing him the number for Velvet Iron's Colombian liaison.

That's not to say I didn't hand him Velvet Iron's number. Abyssinia lacked the manufacturing capacity for too many military essentials like field dressings, painkillers, medicines, entrenching tools, waterproof tents, rain jackets, water purifiers, and so on. Little things, but ones that could make or break an army's ability to stay in the field. As I explained to the king, items like these could immediately improve an army's efficiency while not costing nearly as much or drawing as much attention as state of the art weaponry. Moreover, most of these items used raw materials that were available in Abyssinia or nearby countries, and were relatively easy to replicate. In time, he should be able to copy the designs and produce them in his own factories. Not only would it reduce his reliance on foreign suppliers, but it would also generate employment for his own people.

Of course, I couldn't steer him entirely away from the big-ticket items. Like most monarchs, no matter how enlightened, he liked his shiny toys. Unfortunately for him, the Ildoans, Francois and Albish were all invested in keeping his army primitive and harmless. And seeing as how his country was completely landlocked, large items like artillery, aircraft and armor weren't making their way in anytime soon. His only option, so I told him, was to make nice with the Empire, and try and get them to pressure Ildoa into giving him sea access so he could import Imperial hardware.

He didn't like that idea. Abyssinia had fought long and hard to remain independent, and were justly suspicious of anything that smacked of European influence.

I shrugged and left the king to his dilemma, since I never pretended to be a diplomat. Instead I focused on what toys I could get him, namely machine guns, computation orbs, and the new Scorpion machine-pistols for his personal guard. These were much easier to smuggle into the country. I had learned my lesson, though, and I made sure the actual smuggling was carried out by Abyssinian agents. Let the King bear the risk, I wasn't having any more of my companies getting caught up in gun-running. Cold Steel was bad enough.

Particularly vital to Abyssinia's needs was mage-detection equipment. Abyssinia had a few scanning stations left over from their wars with Ildoa and their attempts to conquer parts of Somaliland during the early part of the century, but they were all decades out of date and sporadically placed to boot. Modern mages could run rings around them, and I was fairly sure European mages could recon the country almost at will as long as they were even slightly cautious.

Fortunately, mage detection equipment was not nearly as closely controlled as computational orbs. King Tafari was fully aware as to just how much havoc mages could wreak unopposed. With my encouragement and advice, he started a massive program of building mage-scanning outposts and acquiring anti-aircraft weaponry. Without a meaningful air force of his own, his only hope of opposing European air forces was a combination of AA fire and surprise attacks from mages.

Now that he also had access to combat-rated orbs courtesy of yours truly, he also started a program of testing and mandatory conscription of anyone with mage potential (because of course he did) and started shopping for trainers.

I was only peripherally involved with most of these projects. Sure, I advised the King on them, but they were ultimately carried by his own people. More of my attention was taken up with the expansion to the railroad.

Here I ran headfirst into the obduracy of the provincial feudal lord. King Tafari could order what he liked, but the local lords also had a tremendous say on what went on in their territory. Some of these hidebound reactionaries saw the new rail lines as one more threat to their traditional way of life, and were opposed to it on general principle.

Then there were the other sort, the ones who, when asked to find labor, chose to supply slaves. _I_ was opposed to _them_ on general principle. Apart from despising slavery for its sheer inefficiency, one of the big benefits to large public works was the way they could generate employment and stimulate the economy. This benefit went out the window if all the work is done by unpaid labor. Well, not quite unpaid. The slave-owners would get paid quite well for the rent of their property.

My stance was not popular. The king might dislike slavery as well, but he was willing to look the other way for the sake of getting the job done. And my fellow European investors, magnificent hypocrites that they were, only cared that the rail line got built as cheaply as possible, no matter how morally dubious the methods.

Strictly speaking, if the king was willing to sabotage his country's growth by allowing the prosperity of slavers, that was his affair. This wasn't my country, and I wasn't even being paid for this advisory post. Burning my political capital on this quixotic quest benefited no one. It was just the awful misuse of human capital that stuck in my craw.

Pacing the floor of the master bedroom in the small mansion the king had provided me, I was speaking my thoughts aloud. "Looking at it rationally, it really isn't any of my business. If the King chooses not to take a stand on the matter, well, it's his country. I'm not here to reform this medieval hellhole. In fact, the only reason I'm here is to see this railway job done right. And if it's not going to be done right, then we might as well pack up and go back to Djibouti. At least then we'll be able to get some privacy instead of living in this glorified fishbowl..."

My voice trailed off as my eye caught movement. Visha had been lying on the bed and listening to me vent. Now she was sitting up and stretching, her thin negligee giving me an excellent view of her toned figure.

This was perhaps both the greatest blessing and the greatest curse of my current situation. Visha and I had often shared bedrooms in the past, but we'd still slept in separate beds. Now, though, we were under constant scrutiny as the King's new favorites, and the role of Boris and Svetlana very much demanded that we share the same bed. Visha had no problems with it of course, and why should she? We were both women, our relationship nothing more than strictly platonic. If she only knew how much I struggled to keep things professional every night! It didn't help that Visha had developed the habit of using me as a body pillow in her sleep.

The whole experience was enjoyable and frustrating in equal measure, and topped off with a dash of guilt at the way I was exploiting her trust. I couldn't even take a cold shower, thanks to the tropical heat!

By the time Visha finished stretching, I'd managed to regain my composure. Seeing me silent, she took it as her turn to speak. "Tanya, who exactly are you trying to convince?"

"Convince of what?"

"That you don't actually care about the slaves. It's a horrible system, and like any good person, you want to fight it tooth and nail. Why do you act like it's a failing to feel that way?"

I scoffed. That just showed how little she understood the real me. If I'd been reincarnated as a slave-owner, I might have treated my slaves well, but I was certain I would have fought to hold on to my property as long as it was profitable to do so. Of course, my 21st century knowledge would have let me see the exploits in such a system and I'd most likely have ended up freeing my slaves anyway, but that would have just been good business.

In this case, I felt that ignoring the slavery issue was running counter to King Tafari's stated goal of modernizing his country, and thus I was opposed to it, seeing as I was his adviser, even if an unpaid one.

She listened to me patiently as I explained my position (minus the bit about reincarnation), then said, "What about Colombia?"

I blinked. "What about it?"

"You negotiated so hard on the behalf of the workers. Why did you? That wasn't your job."

"I was being paid to keep the peace! How much peace would there be if the workers were on the verge of revolt? An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, you know!"

"And Africa? All the slaves you freed and armed, the rogue miners you helped… and let's not talk about the Seychelles plantations and the Ashanti king."

"And I made money off of it. I made a LOT of money. You did as well!" Reaching a nearby desk, I pulled out the latest message from Berun and waved it at her. "Have you seen the figures? Would an altruist have this many zeros in their bank balance?"

What I was waving was the breakdown of the sales of our shares in Cold Steel. I'd once awarded Visha 8% of the company's stock back when it was a small start-up. Investment from other sources had diluted her percentage down to around 3%, but even that portion had cleared 1.5 million marks when the dust settled. As for me, I'd held almost 25% through Manpower Plus. Normally, disinvesting that much stock had to be done slowly lest it crash the price. However, an Albish purchaser had picked up 10% shares from me in a private purchase, and moreover they had paid a premium on an already overvalued stock in order to maintain strict confidentiality.

I had no idea why some Albishman would pay so much to secretly own Cold Steel stock, but it meant my sales were almost complete. All that cash, combined with the value of my remaining holdings, made me a millionaire in Pounds Sterling, currently the most highly valued currency in the world. I wasn't sure quite how much it translated to in 21st century terms, but right here and now I was at least moderately rich.

All this, I felt, made it indisputable that my actions in Africa had been driven by nothing higher-minded than the profit motive. I had failed to account for Visha's stubbornness.

"You make money because you see opportunities that others don't. That doesn't change the fact that when we ran into that awful man and his slave camp, you were the one who fired the first shot."

I clearly remembered firing the first shot because the situation had already devolved past the point of no return. However, I decided not to waste my breath arguing further. It was obvious Visha had reached conclusions that were superficially logical, but based on flawed assumptions.

Unfortunately, for all her intelligence, it was clear she was not willing to admit that her starting position may be faulty, even in the face of new evidence. I let it be because her faith in me wasn't doing anyone any harm. Still, if Visha ever wished to stand on her own two feet as a rational freethinker like me, she really needed to learn how to check her assumptions.

Deciding to return to the original debate, I said, "Well, whether my actions are driven by ideology or greed, does it really matter? The King's not going to fight over the slavery issue, my work here is done, why shouldn't we just pack up and take off for somewhere more comfortable?"

"Because," she said softly, reaching out a hand and pulling me down to sit beside her, "You are Tanya von Degurechaff. And no matter how impossible it seems, I've never seen you give up. So tell me this, what would it take for the King to make a stand against slavery?"

"Overwhelming force," I replied drily as I tried to ignore her curling around me like a contented cat. "He needs a stick to beat the _ras_ into line, and the royal army isn't big enough."

"Does he actually need an army?" Visha murmured as she leaned against me. "A single mage was enough to solve that little civil war of his."

"Apart from the fact that he can't have some foreign woman going around kidnapping his vassals, I refuse to let you go off unsupported. It worked once because no one was expecting it. Don't assume the next enemy will be so complacent."  
"Does my being foreign matter if I am officially acting as his agent?"

"Perhaps not. But one person isn't enough, and Boris isn't supposed to be a mage."

"But it's not just the two of us," she pointed out. "You can pick up the phone right now and have a platoon of the best mages in the world dropping by inside a week."

"Sure I could. And while I'm at it, I might as well take out an advertisement in the Londinium Times announcing my exact location. And don't say 'disguises'," I lifted a hand to forestall her next words. "There's no way anyone will see a gathering of that many unknown aerial mages and not become suspicious."

"You're right," she agreed. "People will be suspicious. But as long as there is plausible deniability, I'm pretty sure the King will ignore any demands to surrender us. After all, we'll be acting as his iron fist and we'll be training his new mage corps."

Visha had a point. King Tafari desperately needed a mage company to carry out his will, and he'd certainly be very resistant to any calls to give us up. But as the Empire had proved, national borders were only a suggestion if you wanted something badly enough.

"Visha, we have Francois to the west, Ildoans to the north, and Albish to the east and south. All of them have reasons to capture me, and any of them could send a full company on a quick jaunt over the border to take my head."

"I'd like to see the mage company that could take you with the rest of us there."

"You mean like the 207th?"

Visha sniffed. "Considering how they've made a complete mess of things in the Congo, I think you're worrying too much."

I sighed. "So they're terrible policemen. That doesn't make them bad soldiers." The Imperial 207th had been sent down to the Katanga region in the Congo to suppress rogue mining operations (and most likely, to look for me as well). Except, they'd been so heavy-handed that Grantz, commander of the Elisabethstadt mage garrison, had come out in open opposition to them in the name of protecting Imperial subjects. Given the massive advantage represented by the Type 97 computation orb, matters would have most likely gone poorly for Grantz if it had come to an actual fight. Fortunately, Lergen had shown up in time to sit both sides down before anything irreparable happened.

While this performance did not speak too well of their intelligence, I could not hope for them to be incompetents in the air, and Visha should understand that as well.

"Well, if they're bad detectives, then all we have to do when they show up, is hide. Or are you saying there are any mages in the world that can find us if we choose to go to ground?" Visha asked me smugly.

That I could not dispute. Even I wasn't sure how I would find me in a crowd. I couldn't imagine any force of mages being able to track me and my cadre if we chose flight over fight. Especially when the country as a whole would be hostile to their presence. "All right," I admitted. "So we can probably run if someone does send a big force after us. That still doesn't explain why I should take the risk."

"Oh, come now." I shivered as I felt Visha's warm lips brush my ear, her breath tickling my neck. "We both know you're itching to play the white knight. For a company of veteran mages, the King will agree to almost anything. You get to build the rail through honest labor, and you get to put the screws to those trying to keep the country backward. And if you _insist_ that you only do things for 'rational' reasons… well, how much do you think the King would be willing to pay for his own personal magical troubleshooters?"

I, of course, saw through Visha immediately. That little escapade with _Ras_ Gugsa had only whetted her appetite for adventure. She was probably getting bored of playing the vapid vamp and wanted to get back to her true calling of bringing harm to the enemy. She was undoubtedly looking forward to how the European powers will react once they realize who exactly King Tafari's newest military consultants were.

I opened my mouth to turn her down, but it was at that point she hugged me from behind and started nuzzling my neck. My train of thought thoroughly derailed, I could only stay silent as she made one more argument, "Besides, aren't you tired of having to stick to the ground? It's been months since we could freely take to the air. Tell me you don't want to fly again."

That really was a good point. However much I might try to ignore it, there was no denying that flying was one of the few things I truly loved about my new world. And a thrill junkie like Visha undoubtedly felt it even worse than me. Her words were pretty much a declaration that she was on the verge of doing something extreme to alleviate her desire for excitement.

In the end though, it wasn't the thought of doing some good for the country, or the desire for whatever goodies I could squeeze out of the king, or even the perfectly rational fear of what Visha might get up to that led me to agreeing to her plan. I was honest enough to admit it, but I was once again proving the adage that men will do anything to please a pretty woman. Even if the man in question hasn't been a man for over sixteen years.

* * *

**May 27, 1930, Londinium, Allied Kingdom**

"Well, we've done it," grumbled the Allied Kingdom's Finance Minister. "It cost us over a quarter of a million pounds, but we now have a man on the Cold Steel Trading Company's board of directors." He tossed an unfriendly look at the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service. "I hope it's going to be worth it."

The SIS Chief was confident. "It will be. If we look at the news coming out of Africa, it's clear that a section of the Imperial government is using Cold Steel as their tool in an economic war against both us and internal opposition. With Degurechaff as their agent provocateur. Now that we have someone on the board, they'll be hard put to slip anything else by us. And we'll get some solid insight into what the movers and shakers in Berun might be up to."

"Isn't it strange, though?" mused the Prime Minister. "If Cold Steel's doings are that sensitive, why are they going public in the first place?"

"Money, of course. It's clear that whichever government faction is behind the company, their funds are limited. They had to go public if they wanted to keep financing their African operations." replied the SIS Chief.

"So the Bank of England is now indirectly paying off Degurechaff?" came the Prime Minister's dry response.

"That's a very narrow view," coughed the SIS Chief. "Now that we're on the board, we can demand detailed information on all of Cold Steel's operations. Who exactly is doing what and where. Those guns showing up in Ashanti hands, someone in Cold Steel is behind it. Once we have proof, we can start putting pressure on the Imps to stay out of our turf."

"There are other uses as well," remarked the representative from the Foreign Office. "With Cold Steel's close involvement with the colony's administration, we'll get some pretty decent insight on exactly what the Imperials are up to in the Congo."

"Not just in the Congo," said the SIS Chief. "This is just a preliminary report, but Cold Steel is said to hold significant shares in two companies on Commonwealth soil. Black Diamond out of Rhodesia, and Black Earth in the Seychelles."

"Good grief. What are they doing there?" asked the man from the Admiralty.

"We don't know. But now we can find out."

"Seychelles…" mused the PM. "Any relation to King Prempeh's great escape?"

"It's certainly possible," the spymaster allowed.

"More than possible." Attention now turned to the representative of the Home Office. "The king disappeared at a ball where representatives of Black Earth were on the guest list. If that isn't enough, Interpol is reporting suspicion that Degurechaff had been hiding out in a leper colony. A leper colony barely thirty miles from Victoria, where the king was being held."

"A leper colony?" asked the PM, aghast. "Do we need to warn people of the danger of infection?"

The Home representative cleared his throat. "By all accounts she'd isolated herself from the general population. I don't think we need to worry."

"Oh. Well, that's a relief." The PM's brows furrowed. "Did they check the leper colony to see if any other fugitives are hiding out among the inmates?"

The Home Office man blinked, then replied, "I'll… tell the Governor to get on that."

The Finance Minister made a valiant effort to get the discussion back on track. "At any rate, what's the likely fallout if the Imps figure out we're buying into Cold Steel?"

"Officially, not much they can do," responded Foreign Office. "Just like we can't really stop Cold Steel from investing in Albish companies, they can't stop us. Might make things a tad awkward though."

"Oh, we'll make things more than awkward if we get solid proof they're supplying the Ashanti," promised the Prime Minister. "That's almost an act of war is what it is!"

* * *

**June 9, 1930, Berun, The Empire**

Elya Roth got up and stretched with a groan. "I'm going to go blind trawling through these bits of paper. How can anyone even understand this crap?"

Not getting a response, she huffed and looked around. As she'd predicted months back, the office was hot and stuffy, the European summer almost as bad as the tropics.

Mary was half-drowsing in a corner, struggling to keep her eyes open as she went through lists of money transfers. In a chair close at hand, looking up at the ceiling, was the strange little Francois who'd attached himself to their Interpol team for the last several weeks.

"Looking for inspiration from the heavens, Mr. Paquet?" she teased.

Looking down at her, the man twitched his waxed handlebar mustache and gave her a pleasant smile. "Why look above, when the beauty of the Heavens is right in front of me?"

Elya laughed. She'd never expected to like a Francois, but the bald little middle-aged man with the ridiculous mustache had a way of responding to her teasing that was humorous without ever trying too hard.

"But no, what I have been trying to divine, mademoiselle, is the probable next step for our formidable Mme. Degurechaff. And for this we must turn to the psychology of the woman," continued Paquet, while indicating the records in front of him.

Looking over, Elya saw that he was not looking through financial records, but rather Degurechaff's military record.

"You've mentioned that before. That people are creatures of habit, and even in new circumstances, they will still seek familiarity."

"Just so. Degurechaff might be a fugitive, but if we look at her known activities, we can find certain similarities to how she conducted herself during the war."

Elya nodded. "She did gather a cadre of mages around herself as soon as she could."

"Close, but not quite. It is the cadre part that is important, not the mage part. Degurechaff is someone who seeks control, and surrounds herself with people whom she can train to be loyal. Even at the age of eight, she specifically asked for an officer's rank. During the war, the 203rd was formed on her recommendation, a battalion that operated almost entirely independently. As the commander of the 203rd she had more control over her forces than anyone short of a ship's captain."

"So she's a control freak?"

"No, not quite. It is clear she expected her trusted subordinates to act independently and show their own initiative. It is a strange thing, it is as if she finds comfort in positions of power, but has very little interest in exercising that power except in pursuit of specific goals. It is certainly fascinating. Most personality types that avidly seek power do so in order to have freedom to indulge their vices. Yet Degurechaff as a personality is largely free from any obvious vice. She doesn't even seem to enjoy power for the sake of power, often eschewing privileges that officers take for granted."

"Well, she was only twelve when she went on the run. Maybe she's developed a few vices since? Definitely a good taste in wine."

"Yes, the lack of information for such a vital portion of her formative years is certainly vexing. However, I have identified certain patterns of thought that seem to have held true."

"Oh?" Elya could see Mary sitting up and taking notice as well.

"Indeed. For a start, in spite of the Imperial propaganda that painted her as a shining example of courage and nobility, her battle record indicates that she prefers to fight only when the rapport of force is very much in her favor."

"A soldier who prefers to outnumber the enemy." Elya raised an eyebrow. "Shocking."

"It is more than mere preference. In every case where she had the initiative, her strikes are calculated to hit the enemy at their weakest, do as much damage as possible, then retreat at the first hint of serious opposition. The few times she stands her ground against a stronger force are almost always because she has been ordered to by someone else, including the action that won her the Silver Wings."

"So she likes to hit and run. So what?" muttered Mary.

"Ah, Miss Sioux, there is the genius of Miss Degurechaff. The hit-and-run, it is an obvious tactic, no? So obvious that even with the best orbs in the world, armies would still find ways to guard against it. Yet, in spite of everyone's best precautions, she consistently finds a weakness to exploit. Often, they are things that conventional wisdom would not even call a weakness, until she came along to prove everyone wrong." The man was growing more excited as he pulled out papers, this time of Degurechaff's more recent career. "Looking now at her criminal activities, the same can be seen. Find a weakness, and exploit. Disappear at first sign of serious opposition. In New York, she exploited the criminal underbelly to create a protection racket that successfully maintains a veneer of legality. In charge of it, she placed loyal subordinates that could work on their own initiative. And at the first sign of pursuit, she flees the country to Colombia. Where she once more finds a weakness to exploit, takes advantage of it, and flees at the first sign of trouble. The Congo, once more, the same."

"So… where do you think she's gone now?" asked Elya.

"Ah, that is the difficulty is it not? Assuming she took temporary refuge in the Seychelles, there are so many places she could have gone to from there. Exploit the racial tensions in South Africa? The growing instability in the Turkmen Empire? Destabilize the Suez? I feel the best thing we can do is listen for unusual activity. Not violent or chaotic, but unusual. Because Miss Degurechaff sees things others do not, and the effect is a sign of its own."

"Really?" came the sardonic reply from Mary. "Because in that case, I got something." She waved a piece of paper. "Someone bought a huge lot of Cold Steel stock with cash in a private sale. Except the buyer's anonymous, and the seller's an unknown out of Waldstatten."

"Waldstatten? With their banking laws we'd have better luck chasing down Degurechaff on foot," commented Elya.

"Indeed. And yet, if these numbers are correct, this buyer bought a very large quantity at a premium, while going to considerable effort to minimize fanfare," said Paquet.

Elya looked at the others. "So, any of you thinking what I'm thinking? Because I'm thinking, someone just got paid off."

* * *

**June 23, 1930, some distance from Addis Ababa, Abyssinia**

Over the last month, my fellow mages have gathered from around the world. And along the way, they seem to have multiplied. Koenig and Becker had stayed back in Central Africa to keep an eye on things. However, when Royce, Teyanen, Walther and Vogel joined me in Abyssinia, they were accompanied by three African natives that had tested strongly for mage potential.

Two were young men Koenig had found in Rhodesia, but the third was a fifteen-year-old girl that had been forwarded to Royce by Shaman Abara on the very day he was planning to leave for Abyssinia. Sometimes, divination was just plain cheating.

Emilie had thankfully showed up alone. But I was surprised to find Joe Barrow present, and accompanied by a nineteen-year-old Qinese girl named Mei Lin. She was apparently a half-sister's cousin's brother's… I honestly couldn't figure out her exact relationship to Changying, the CEO of Household Magicks, but at least she was vouched for and very unlikely to be an undercover police officer.

All the newcomers, and Barrow himself, had only received a few month's training with flight orbs, meaning they could just about fly in a straight line. Well, no matter. We were going to be training King Tafari's conscripts, they could just join in.

I had not been idle in the past month. Boris and Svetlana had made their excuses and taken off for parts unknown. And in turn, I had resurrected my persona of Jennifer Ecks. Not as a member of Velvet Iron though. I doubted Lena would thank me for dragging her into this mess. Instead, I was now the leader of a private security corporation, which I decided to call Silver Lance, Inc.

By this point I was practiced enough with wigs and makeup that I didn't need an illusion to maintain the disguise (at least from a distance), so I could participate in full-power drills without worrying about the audience. Besides shaking the rust off, I and Visha had also started off on our plan of bringing the lords to heel. With King Tafari's blessing, more and more recalcitrant lords found themselves suddenly being transported to their king's presence in their pajamas. Only a few failed to take the hint, and sabotage and slavery disappeared from the railway construction.

While Visha and I were handling that, the others had been getting the training grounds ready, and drilling the new recruits on the basics of magical thrust. And today, I will be taking my first class, with the most advanced batch.

I could admit I was looking forward to it. While I had trained rookies before, back then I had been constrained by Imperial rules and regulations. This time though, I could indulge myself.

I marched out to grounds with military precision, and planted myself firmly in front of the fourteen cadets in the advanced class (including the five from my own people). All fourteen of them stared back at me dumbfounded. I glared at each of them in turn, and then I barked, "Why the fuck are you all upside down?!"

Barrow, having had experience with my methods, got himself oriented the right way immediately. The others took a bit more screaming.

A few hours later, Visha and I were walking back and discussing the lesson. "It is essential that we get rookies thinking in 3 dimensions as soon as possible." I explained. "Imperial Mages form so many bad habits that then need to be unlearned in the middle of battle, all because the Empire insisted on them keeping both feet pointed at the ground."

Visha was nodding along enthusiastically. "That explains why you always seemed to fly so differently from everyone else when we first met! It's so obvious, too!"

I chuckled. "The best ideas often are obvious in hindsight."

Eventually we came to our new quarters. While a far cry from the luxurious dwelling King Tafari had bestowed on his favored adviser, I found myself preferring the spartan log cabins for a number of reasons. First and foremost, privacy. With no servants getting underfoot, I could actually relax completely for the first time in weeks.

The second was a bit of a mixed blessing, in that Visha had finally gone back to sleeping in her own rooms. While part of me did miss her embrace, I felt we needed to re-establish a bit of professional distance, and having individual cabins for our company meant we no longer needed to share living space. Visha had definitely been a bit disappointed at losing her pillow, but she'd have to learn to live with it. With all the responsibility and danger that this new venture entailed, I couldn't afford any distractions.

Right now, my company was the only thing securing the skies of Abyssinia. Even with the massively truncated training course I was putting together, it would be at least six months before the locals could start taking over the burden. In the meantime, I wouldn't just have to deal with the people chasing me. I'd also have to handle the inevitable attempts from European powers to interfere in the country's development. This would be the first contract accepted by Silver Lance, and I couldn't afford to screw it up if I wanted the organization to serve as at least a semi-permanent cover for my activities.

There was one last worry. I was starting to feel concerned that spending so much time around Visha may have infected me with her reckless spirit. Because in spite of the massive risks that I was facing more or less on a woman's whim, I couldn't help but look forward to it.


	31. Chapter 31

_A\N 1: Working draft of Chapter 32 also available on my __Pat reon__  
A\N 2: Adult version of this story up to Chapter 20 on Questionable Questing and ArchiveOfOurOwn_

**Chapter 31**

**August 27, 1930, Abyssinia - Eritrea border**

In a somewhat ironic twist, I was now experiencing the one aspect of soldiery that I had skipped over entirely during my career in the Imperial military. I was standing watch on a dangerous post while reading letters from home.

Well, if one could classify the pseudo-family I had established with Lena and Jenny in New York as 'home'. I suppose in this life they were the closest thing that counted. And at least their letters made for interesting reading.

Lena was coordinating with her not-boyfriend Murdoch to make sure Abyssina's arms and supplies were delivered in a timely manner. She was also apparently having great success selling the Scorpion machine pistol to the domestic American market. Knowing the kind of people who were likely to buy such an item, I could only wonder if the Scorpion would replace the Thompson as the signature 'gangster gun' in American cinema.

And speaking of the cinema, apparently Jenny was spending her summer vacation in Reina del Angel, shooting for Hughes' latest masterpiece, an espionage thriller of some kind. She was also doing her best to scandalize Hollywood by being openly seen courting both men and women, and along the way had become an outspoken advocate for gay rights, as well as a harsh opponent of media censorship.

I could only sigh. I recalled how Visha had racked up a string of arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct and seditious activity when she was the same age. And they say teenage boys are troublesome! Thank goodness I wasn't a father. Even the little bit of responsibility I felt towards Jenny was enough to give me a headache.

I decided that as soon as I was back in Addis Ababa, I would write back to Lena instructing her to put Jenny's nose to the grindstone. Maybe an after-school job at Velvet Iron or Household Magicks. School, work, and combat training. That should surely be enough to keep Jenny out of trouble, at least during the school year.

Her vacations would remain a source of anxiety if Hughes kept dragging Jenny off to Hollywood, but I knew better than to try and tell a teenage girl that she isn't allowed to become a movie star. The best I could do was tell Lena to keep Jenny's escort on task and a lawyer on retainer. I was frankly dreading the day when Jenny would reach her age of majority and even Lena's nominal control would disappear. Particularly when one considers all the money Hughes was paying her, money Lena was locking up tight in trust funds, money that would become available as soon as Jenny hit the appropriate age. Thankfully, the age of majority in the state of New York was twenty-one. Maybe Jenny would have calmed down a bit by then. One could only hope.

Jenny's own letter was at once more and less informative. While containing very little in the way of news about the wider world, it was chock full of details on her personal life. I had to give her points for honesty, she was pretty open about all her misdeeds. Of course, she didn't see them as misdeeds. She presented her actions as perfectly logical, and they really were once you rejected societal mores as artificial and irrational constructs.

I couldn't in good conscience reject an argument rooted in rationality, so my response would instead draw her attention to the idea of the cost-benefit analysis, and ask her if the benefits of her actions (whatever they were) would outweigh the cost of effectively rendering herself unemployable by any respectable organization. Hopefully, she would draw the right conclusion.

Jenny was also eager to tell me all about the plot of the movie she had been recruited for. I immediately recognized some of my own exploits, crossed with what felt like 'Heart of Darkness', assuming that book existed in this world. I had no idea if anyone would be interested in such a thing, especially considering how the plot seemed to take a dim view of western society's treatment of Africa's natives at a time when racism and segregation in the US were very much alive and well. Well, if the movie bombed, at least Jenny's acting career would be over and Lena would have one less thing to worry about.

Sighing, I put away the letters. I could see why soldiers always looked forward to these, they were the best cure for the tedium that filled most military duties. Now I was wishing I had dragged along all the other messages that arrived over the past week from my various contacts and businesses. I'd already read them, but re-reading them to make sure I didn't miss anything would have at least been a productive use of my time. I had honestly forgotten how boring soldiering could be when someone isn't trying to kill you.

As fate or Being X would have it, the thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard the radio squawking.

I looked into our little dugout towards Barrow and Olonga. The three of us represented one of two border patrols currently being operated by my new mercenary company, Silver Lance. Taking Barrow out on this patrol was a bit of a risk. Even though he was a veteran of the streets of New York and Londinium and a master of close combat, his flight training was barely complete. Olonga might never have seen battle, but he had been the first of Koenig's Rhodesian recruits, so he was actually the best trained of the non-203 members of my company.

It felt strange to be flying without Visha at my side, but it had occurred to me that I had put personal comfort over properly developing my most valuable subordinate. I had long since promoted Visha from adjutant to second-in-command, yet ever since the mess in Colombia I hadn't really allowed her an independent command without me looking over her shoulder. Putting her in charge of training the Abyssinian recruits while I ran border security several hundred kilometers away was my way of showing my confidence in her ability.  
That, and I really needed to get my hormones in check before I did something inappropriate. While it was flattering how much she had pouted when I insisted on us working separately, I had to remind myself that Visha was simply a very affectionate girl and that I shouldn't let wishful thinking lead me into ruining an excellent friendship and working relationship.

I snapped myself out of thinking - again! - about Visha. Really, I couldn't wait for this second bout of puberty to be over. Forcefully focusing on where Barrow was waving me over, I said, "What news?"

"Scanner B-126 again, ma'am," replied Barrow. "Four contacts flying along that ravine, same as last time. 2,200 meters." I could feel my lips stretching into a shark's grin as I heard that report. Truly, being predictable on the battlefield is the greatest sin.

Scanner B-126 was one of the many mage detection arrays that I had talked King Tafari into paying for. This particular one had been placed to plug a gap in the coverage of the border with the Ildoan colony of Eritrea. When I had first proposed these arrays, I hadn't really expected to find anything except perhaps the occasional European mage patrol testing the waters by toeing the border. However, within weeks of going operational, several scanners had started reporting repeated incursions from Eritrean Ildoa. One particular platoon had been in the habit of using this particular route that went right by Scanner B-126.

These incursions could not be explained away as mere misunderstandings. Our location was currently a good thirty kilometers on the Abyssinian side of the border.

The mystery behind these incursions could be explained by one who followed the news. When Ildoa had originally allied with the Empire during the war, their then government had promised massive territorial gains and the wealth to alleviate Ildoa's ongoing problems with unemployment and poverty. However, the war had ended with the Empire doing pretty much all the fighting. Ildoa's contribution had amounted to a single disastrous attack across the Alps and having their navy be stalled by the Commonwealth without firing a shot. As a result, when the time came to divide the spoils, they had to be satisfied with a meager chunk of North African coast bordering their Libyan holdings. This naturally upset the voters, and in Ildoa's 1928 general elections, a new party had come to power, one with a highly expansionist foreign policy. Conquest, glory, riches, all that good stuff. The new government had started a large rearmament program and was now spoiling for a fight. It was perhaps not too surprising they'd start eyeing Abyssinia. Their failed attempt to conquer the country forty years ago was something of an embarrassment that their new firebrand of a leader was undoubtedly eager to erase from history.

So far, at least, there had been no reports of major troop movements. These mage incursions were more likely early scouting runs in order to judge the feasibility of an attack. The King had given me discretion on how to handle this, and I had decided that the Ildoans needed a good sharp shock. Better to put them on notice that Abyssinia is far from being easy meat, lest the lack of opposition encourage adventurism.

This brought us to now, and why my patrol was hiding on the ground instead of being up in the air. We wanted the Ildoan scouts to come in deep… deep enough that we could cut off their retreat.

After confirming the location of the patrol, I told Barrow, "Get in touch with Ernest. Tell her to get in position to screen any reinforcements. We're going in."

Ernest, along with Vogel and Staelle, the girl Shaman Abara had recommended, formed the other patrol. It was their job to make sure no other Ildoans showed up to interrupt my chat with these four interlopers.

Going up against four mages only backed by two rookies was a bit of a risk, but I was confident. I might not have the Type 95, but I'd faced worse odds without. Besides, if the Ildoans were anything like the Imperials, none of them would think to check for illusions.

Within seconds, our patrol had reached 4,000 meters, close to the operational ceiling of our orbs. I'd also placed us so we'd have the sun at our backs when facing the Ildoan patrol. Yes, the sun. It was actually around 11 in the morning. Why bother scouting at night into a country without mages when you can fly across in broad daylight and get a good look at the terrain?

Amazingly, we got all the way into position before my magnified vision told me that the Ildoan mages had suddenly stopped flying slowly and instead were climbing rapidly. Either they'd seen us or their own border scanners had picked us up and relayed a warning. No matter the reason, it was far too late.

"Unknown mages! This is Colonel Jennifer Ecks of the Abyssinian Armed Forces!" I shouted on open comms in Albish, using my Abyssinian military rank to let them know who I represented. "You are in violation of Abyssinian airspace! Surrender immediately or be fired upon!" I wish I had someone who spoke Ildoan, but alas that was one language skill currently missing from Silver Lance. Becker spoke it, but he was still in the Congo, working for Cold Steel. Hopefully, my tone was enough to convey my message. Just in case, I repeated myself in Francois.

The second one did the trick, and a voice came back. "This is Lt. Jilani, we are sorry for the error in navigation, we shall be leaving imme - "

"Tell it to the judge!" I barked back. "Now surrender or be fired upon!" No way was I letting them simply waltz back. No country would permit such a blatant border incursion to happen unopposed, not unless they wanted to be thought of as weak.

The Ildoans did not slow down or give any sign of submission. Instead they angled themselves to race for the border. Disappointing but not unexpected. I led my own patrol on an intercept course.

"Back off," the Ildoan lieutenant growled. "We have you outnumbered, and we are just going to leave. No one has to get hurt."

"Unless I see you heading for the ground, someone is definitely going to get hurt," I replied. "Surrender. Now."

Their only response was an adjustment to their course. Now they were angling to meet us head on, clearly planning to blast past us with numbers. My world slowed down as I poured on the reflex enhancement, and sped ahead of my companions.

As I expected, they took the bait. All four of their guns immediately started tracking me. Once the distance closed to eight hundred meters, all four fired a volley of homing-explosive spells, the bread-and-butter of mage combat.

Now, homing spells are not by any means guaranteed hits. At the speeds involved, they allow for a slight bit of course-correction, and that's about it. It's why both the Francois, and apparently the Ildoans relied on volley fire. By saturating a target's location with homing spells, they can usually generate a hit against a moving target.

Unless, as in my case, the target has vision keen enough to see which way their guns are pointing and reflexes fast enough to make full use of the half a second the bullets take to travel the distance.

The first volley missed when I applied thrust straight up, suddenly gaining ten meters in height while still maintaining my forward momentum.

The second volley exploded off to my left as I jinked to the right.

The third volley was less well placed as they tried to anticipate my maneuvering. A quick stop- and-reverse was enough to throw off their aim.

Their fourth volley was interrupted by a bit of volley fire from my own side, as two shots struck their radio operator. The first explosive shattered his shield, and the second sent his broken body spiraling out of the sky.

The Ildoans' surprise was understandable. After all, Olonga and Barrow were still over two hundred meters behind me, and neither had their weapons ready. Or rather, the illusions of them were. In the meantime, my two companions had snuck in much closer under camouflage, and landed a flawless first strike.  
With the odds now even, I breathed a sigh of relief as I dismissed the illusion and shunted the power to my shield spell. Dodging explosive spells without the benefit of a shield had only been practical because we were still over half a kilometer from each other. Being able to cast shields and illusions at the same time was a luxury I'd left behind with the Type 97.

I could tell the Ildoans were badly shaken by my little sleight of hand. It really was amazing how many combat mages ignored the utility of illusions. It was probably because they didn't want to leave behind the safety of shields. I could understand the sentiment - I too felt much safer inside a bubble capable of stopping light artillery. But as Sun Tzu said, all war is deception, and ignoring the possibility just opens you up to being deceived in turn.

With no more need for tricks, my patrol reformed ranks and charged forward, exchanging shots with the Ildoans. The enemy patrol's training wasn't terrible, but it was clear no one had taught them proper aerial maneuvering. My team's full use of all three dimensions threw them off their game, and by the time the range reached two hundred meters another enemy had bit the dust.

Not that their efforts had been entirely futile. They managed to land some glancing hits, and Olonga may well have died if I hadn't interposed myself. That had certainly stressed my M27, but not beyond its capacity.

Now outnumbered, the Lieutenant and his surviving flight member began clawing their way towards the border. I let them, rather than try to fight desperate men. For a moment they must have thought they were going to get out. Then they came to a dead halt. I knew what they had seen - Ernest's team, standing between them and escape.

At that point, Lieutenant Jilani realized the same thing I had. Even if there were other Ildoan mages in Eritrea, they wouldn't be able to reinforce him before he was blown out of the sky. And even if there were some of his fellows close by, he wasn't going to be able to contact them without a radio operator.

Formally accepting his surrender took but a minute. By that evening, I was back in Addis Ababa, this time with two captured mages to prove that Ildoa had been violating Abyssinia's sovereignty.

King Tafari definitely looked surprised when he heard my report. I guess he was so used to having European mages running roughshod over his forces that actually having some captive was taking some getting used to.

He still seemed puzzled by what to do with them when I left. Well, not my concern. I was no longer Boris, I was Jennifer Ecks, and politics was not my bailiwick.

Instead, I headed over to the training grounds to let Visha know I was back. She greeted me with her usual exuberance. She also tried to express her feelings using the orbless empathic communication spell we'd discovered so long ago, but it quickly became clear to me she was no closer to mastering it than I was. Some of the emotional data was badly garbled, leaving me feeling all hot and tingly but no closer to understanding what she had been trying to convey.

I was still happy to see her, and the temptation was strong to spend a few days enjoying her company. Still, I had a job to do, and I couldn't afford to lollygag. Until the first generation of Abyssinian mages were ready for combat, Silver Lance was the only thing keeping the Abyssinian sky safe.

* * *

**October 17, 1930, Zueri, Waldstatten Confederacy**

Anton Jaffe had been a banker since he turned twenty, over fifteen years ago. In that time he had heard every single Merchant of Venice joke from tasteless friends and not-so-clever rivals, and had long since learned to ignore the idiots.

Unlike Shakespeare's Shylock he lent no money himself. Rather, he was a confidential account manager for the Credit de Confederation, one of the Waldstatten Confederacy's largest and most prestigious financial service providers. Or, as crude people would put it, a very fancy bank.

As his title suggested, a confidential account manager saw to the needs of those clients who wanted to remain confidential. It was a post of considerable trust, and it was a testament to Anton's excellence that he had been entrusted with the title after a mere eight years of flawless service.

He managed dozens of accounts on a day to day basis and so he usually didn't remember individual accounts, unless they did something to stand out. Something like, for example, incurring some of the highest service fees charged to a single account relative to its size.

The thing about confidential banking, the kind where the customer would only ever be known by an account number and a password, is that the tighter you want your security, the more inconvenient it becomes to access your money. At the highest levels of security, money would only ever be released if the proper codes were given in person at a specific branch of the bank.

If, on the other hand, you wanted both security and accessibility? That's when things got expensive, with entire books' worth of codes, countersigns, and routing numbers. And if you wanted access to your money from places which simply didn't accept wire transfers, like say in Central Africa? Sending a trusted courier on a weeks-long journey with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist was not cheap.

The thing was, confidential accounts like this one were usually used for storing money, often away from the prying eyes of the tax collector. It was unusual to see this much back-and-forth activity. Anton had never laid eyes on Ms. Jasmine Smith, but his instincts told him this was a person who liked to see her money put to work - and judging by the inflows, someone who had an eye for good returns on investment.

So when instructions came to almost empty the entire account and send it all to the Congo? Anton decided to take a bit of a risk. When he sent the courier with his briefcase full of banknotes, he also included an offer to extend a line of credit to the tune of a million francs.

The offer was accepted. The credit was used. And the bank started charging interest at 3% a month. When a year went by with not a single missed payment, Anton received a quiet word of commendation from his immediate superior.

Now though, things were getting interesting. Some months back the account had seen a massive inflow of cash. All loans were squared, all dues paid, several purchases made, and at the end of it, the customer for the first time chose to make use of the bank's mutual investment funds. A corpus of ten million francs, all available to the bank to invest on her behalf.

Ten million francs was hardly a big deal to the Credit de Confederation. It was, however, big enough that Anton's boss' boss had sent him a commendation. Buoyed by this accolade, Anton decided to spread the good cheer. In short order he had the paperwork ready to increase the account holder's credit limit to three million francs at only 2.6% monthly interest, as well as pre-approve her for a loan of up to fifteen million at 12.5% per annum.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the letter to convey this to his client when the secretary informed him that someone wished to speak to him, and regarding the very account number that had been on his mind recently.

Anton could confess to some mild excitement as he made his way to the meeting. Certainly, the pretty and stern looking young brunette looked like the sort to represent the mysterious Ms. Smith. Considerable, then, was his disappointment when she identified herself as a member of Interpol.

Anton had heard from his colleagues about visits such as these. They were rare, because the police knew better than to approach them with anything short of ironclad evidence of wrongdoing, which the very nature of a numbered account made doubly difficult to prove. This would be the first time he had heard of Interpol approaching this bank, though, and he wondered if this international force had actually managed to meet the evidentiary criteria needed to get access to his customer's information.

It turned out they hadn't. Instead what the young Ms. Sioux had, was a whole lot of bluster and ill-defined threats. Anton wasn't too upset though. It was his first occasion to refuse cooperation with law enforcement, and so he found himself enjoying the experience for the novelty value.

No, he couldn't give access to anything about this customer until certain criteria are met.

No, Waldstatten being the host country of Interpol made absolutely no difference.

Yes, it would be sad if America and the Empire were to make this bank persona non grata. No, that's still not going to get you your information.

The only time anything even came close to cracking Anton's composure was when Sioux revealed that the account was suspected of being operated by no less than Tanya von Degurechaff, the Devil of the Rhine herself.

Anton had contemplated this new information for a moment, then shrugged and said that it didn't change a thing. The law was the law, and it was high time Interpol left instead of wasting everyone's time.

Eventually he got back to his office. While he'd done his best to shrug it off, he couldn't help but consider if the Devil of the Rhine really was Jasmine Smith. Sitting at his desk, he spent a while contemplating what he knew about Tanya von Degurechaff, and comparing it to what he knew of Jasmine Smith. After some deliberation he came to a decision. Tearing up the letter he'd written, he started writing a new one. Just in case there was something to Interpol's suspicion… Perhaps a credit limit of _five_ million francs would be more appropriate.

* * *

"I warned you, Miss Sioux," came the smug words from Interpol's local representative. "We here in Waldstatten take our laws very seriously. We will certainly continue to gather evidence in the hopes of conclusively linking that account to criminal activity. But until then, there is no chance the banks will compromise their reputation for confidentiality."

Mary's heated response was cut off by Paquet. "So you have said. We thank you for your time. Now, it is a fine day, and my colleague and I will take a little walk to clear our heads."

Mary scowled at her partner for this trip, but didn't say anything. Paquet too seemed willing to keep the silence until several minutes into their walk. "Do not feel too upset, mademoiselle. It was a long shot to begin with that these bankers would see reason. After all, their fortunes were built on being unreasonable about their customers' confidentiality. At least this journey was not entirely a waste of time."

"You found anything?"

"Straws in the wind. The CEO of Velvet Iron, for example, visited the country four years ago, around the time the company was first being established."

Mary huffed. Tiny bits and pieces were all they got these days.  
"On the other hand, I hear those we left behind in Berun are having a bit more luck tracing the money in the other direction. Oh, and Jennifer Ecks has resurfaced."

"What?!"

"Oh yes," Paquet mused, tugging at his moustache. "The confirmation came this morning. I hope you will forgive me for holding on to it till now, but I thought you would need the good news after your meeting with the bank. Jennifer Ecks has been identified as acting as a military adviser to the newly crowned Emperor of Abyssinia."

"Abyssinia? Damn it! Can we go after her?"

"I'm afraid not. As you may have surmised, the African nation's relations with Europe are mostly contentious. Assuming Miss Ecks maintains her usual standards, I very much doubt the Emperor will be inclined to part with her services. Either way, it is now a diplomatic matter. The best we can do is focus on what the rest of our team found in Berun."

* * *

**November 5, 1930, Berun, Chancellor's Office**

"Have you seen the latest that Interpol turned up?" muttered Zettour as he went through his reports. "Some mysterious party in Albion, the Crown Prince of our Empire, and unknowns from the US have all purchased large amounts of stock in Cold Steel, and all going to considerable length to conceal their identities during the purchase. Purchases that were made directly from one private major shareholder. Just what is going on there?" The Chancellor leaned back to tap his clean-shaven jaw and narrowed his eyes at the table.

"Fascinating," rumbled Rudersdorf, mustache twitching in annoyance and chair creaking beneath his bulk as he shifted forward to glare at his old friend. "Now quit dodging the question. What are you going to do about this Ecks person? Who we _all_ suspect to be Degurechaff? The Ildoans are screaming about her whittling away at their mages. The Albish are nervous about her growing influence with the Emperor of Abyssinia. And the Francois - the Francois! - are actually appreciative of how she's helped expand their influence in the country. The Kaiser is raring to start another war by ordering the 207th into Abyssinia! So now what?"

"That is indeed the question, is it not? You know, Tirpitz was in here the other day. He seems to think Degurechaff is drawing a bit too much attention and I should order her to lay low."

"And will you? Order her to lay low?"

"If I thought for a minute that she'd listen to any order from anyone in Berun," came Zettour's dry response.

Rudersdorf huffed. "Your deception is coming home to roost my friend. Do we now admit you have long since lost control over her?"

"Sometimes I wonder how much control we ever really had over her. No my friend, you do not control someone like her. You give her an objective worthy of her attention, then stand out of her way," mused the Chancellor as he started pacing the room, his thin frame and grey hair giving him the air of an aging wolf. "Degurechaff seems to be operating almost openly as a mercenary now. She seems to feel she has enough aerial mages under her banner to fight off or evade capture attempts."

"Yes?" agreed Rudersdorf doubtfully.

"So what does any mercenary want, but a big juicy contract with an employer powerful enough to shelter her? And which of our friends is in desperate need of a modernized mage force to help stabilize things, and rich enough to make it worth even Degurechaff's while?"

Rudersdorf blinked and went over what few nations could be called the Empire's 'friends'. Then his eyes widened. "You don't mean the Turkmen Empire!"

"Indeed I do. Incessant Albish and American meddling has left their empire on the verge of collapse, and they are now our biggest source of oil since the Kaiser refuses to lift his trade embargo against the Americans. We need to keep a friendly government in power there - or at least one willing to take our money. And since they are flush with cash, they can offer enough to make it worth Degurechaff's while. We can even throw in a little bit on top to make sure."

"And the fact that the current government is closely tied with their religious fanatics? Or that their state religion has very firm views on a woman's place in society?"

"Well, it's not like we're asking Degurechaff to settle down there or anything. Just stay long enough to whip their mage corps into shape. We'll even dangle the new Standard Type 30 in front of her. That ought to get her attention."

Rudersdorf winced. "To give up our latest single-core design…"

"A small price to pay to put her out of harm's way," replied Zettour firmly. "I even have the perfect man in mind to accompany the Turkmen representative in presenting our offer to her. I believe Brigadier Lergen can take a few weeks' leave without drastically affecting things in the Congo."

"Lergen? But his opinion of Degurechaff almost matches the Republic's!"

"And yet, for whatever reason, he seems to have a knack for earning her trust. Let's hope he can once more work his charm."  
"You are gambling, my friend."

"In this world of confusion, gambles are all we have left."

"Indeed. And speaking of orbs, any news on Schugel?"

"No." For the first time, the Chancellor's face showed genuine anger. "That lunatic has disappeared with all his research notes. At least some of his test subjects are showing signs of recovery… the ones that are still alive."

"How could the Kaiser let him get away with this… madness?!"

"I don't think anyone realized exactly what he was doing. We'll put out discreet warnings. Hopefully no one will be so desperate as to give him shelter once they hear of what he has done."

"Hopefully."

The two friends spent a long time in the darkening office, pondering on the costs of failure.


	32. Chapter 32

_A\N 1: Working draft of Chapter 33 also available on my Pat Reon__  
A\N 2: Adult version of this story up to Chapter 24 on Questionable Questing_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 32**

**November 12, 1930, Point Noir, Imperial Congo**

Franz Murtaugh had had a profitable, but fairly nerve-wracking two years. Certainly on more than one occasion he had wished that when the mysterious green-eyed woman calling herself Elsa Eckhardt had offered him the position of chief executive of a new trading company, he'd had the good sense to tell her no.

Particularly when Eckhardt, speaking on behalf of the anonymous owner, insisted on implementing concepts like 'customer loyalty' and 'brand value' with the local savages. It was a simple idea, at its core. Instead of treating the natives as primitive thugs, to be bribed with booze and trinkets, they were instead to be treated as valued partners with whom one intended to do business for years to come like you would a fellow white businessman. You did not cater to their needs, you anticipated them. Instead of trying to sell high and buy low, you bought at the best price you could afford and sold as cheaply as you reasonably could, all so they'd keep coming back. And instead of sending your profits back to the home country, you invested it right back here to help make them richer so they would in turn spend more money with you.

Murtaugh had studied economics, and knew such logic flew in the face of all accepted wisdom regarding wealth and trade. Yet, against all odds, it seemed to work. And so he had stopped questioning and started applying these lessons.

He had also done his best to get the identity of the visionary businessman who had founded Cold Steel to implement this bold plan, but Elsa Eckhardt had proven completely immune to his best efforts to charm the identity of her benefactor out of her.

Murtaugh wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was secretly pleased that Eckhardt showed up so rarely in person to Cold Steel's offices. It just wasn't seemly for a girl so much younger than him to walk into his office and order him around like some kind of lackey. A man had his pride, dammit! But every time he'd tried to assert his authority, something in her eye had stopped him cold. It had reminded him very uncomfortably of his former drill sergeant. He knew that a few women had in fact served in the Empire's front-line units, and he wondered if Eckhardt was one such. It would explain why ordering around men came so naturally to her. There were even times he wondered if Cold Steel was truly her brainchild. An absurd idea of course. You could teach women to fight, but they were invariably fools when it came to the world of business.

It was part of the reason he'd worked so hard to expand Cold Steel. Whoever the power was behind Eckhardt, he wanted to prove to them that he didn't need some girl holding his hand. The arms and survival gear trade had been by far the most valuable for Cold Steel, so he'd pushed hard to expand the market. How was he to know those guns would be used to kick off a rebellion? And would lead to the Kaiser banning the sale of arms to the locals?

At that point it was either admit his miscalculation had cost Cold Steel one of its biggest sources of income - or continue to supply the natives in defiance of the Kaiser's orders, and hope for an enormous dividend payout to buy him forgiveness.

Except, once again, much to his frustration, instructions had come in from that infuriating girl ordering him to pour most of his profits into setting up some mining company in Rhodesia. Didn't she realize their shareholders were actually expecting some return on their investment at some point? He'd tried to get in touch with the company's owner directly, only to get slapped down and told to follow orders.

As 1929 turned to 1930, more monies had poured out, even as the instruction to cooperate with the new and extremely strict garrison commander meant drastically curtailing their gun-running. Even the new market opened up in the Albish Gold Coast didn't benefit Cold Steel much - with Brigadier Lergen breathing down their necks, they had to give up and let their supplier Velvet Iron take over the arms shipments entirely.

And then came the order, verbally delivered by yet another intimidating Amazon (where did they keep coming from?!), instructing him to commit mining fraud, right on the eve of Cold Steel going public on the Berun stock exchange.

He could follow the logic. With dividend payouts non-existent over the past two years, they needed something to drive up the stock price, and few things could be better than a provably productive gold mine. Except if the trick got found out, it would be his head on the chopping block. He'd tried to protest as much, but a single casual allusion to Cold Steel's history in the arms business had stopped him cold.

He'd already suspected that Eckhardt knew about his little indiscretion with the local arms sales, in spite of his best efforts to keep it quiet. Now that _heinous bitch_ was blackmailing him into committing fraud, lest he find himself answering to the Kaiser for what could be called treason. And she didn't even have the decency to do it in person, instead sending another female to emasculate him.

As a preliminary to planning his revenge, he'd tried to put his chief of security Klaus von Becker onto finding out everything he could about Elsa Eckhardt and her coterie. _That_ had been a mistake. After Becker got done laughing, that scion of Imperial aristocracy drew upon thirty generations of good breeding to flense him to the bone without once raising his voice. After Becker was done, Murtaugh was left in no doubt that as far as Cold Steel's pecking order went, he was somewhere between the dirt and a footstool, whereas Eckhardt stood somewhere at the right hand of God.

Then the company went public, and performed superbly. So superbly, that Cold Steel's mysterious founder chose to sell out entirely.

At first, it had been a relief. With the vanishing of Manpower Plus from his board of directors, he no longer had to deal with Elsa Eckhardt, and he could also fire the treacherous Becker. Except the moment he tried, he received messages from the other two original shareholders letting him know that firing Becker would be looked upon very poorly. It was enough to make a man scream. Becker, Eckhardt and all the rest had been involved at the behest of Manpower Plus. What was Velvet Iron and Sunrise Botanicals' sudden interest in them?

He'd held out a faint hope that the new shareholders would prove more amenable and help him oust whatever mysterious power stood behind Becker. Then he actually met them.

The Albish, the Americans, and even the representative of the Crown Prince all seemed determined to go through the company's records with a fine tooth comb, and seemed to view his every word with suspicion. All of them had their own ideas about where Cold Steel should next extend their influence and they were too busy spying on each other to deal with his staffing problems.

And now here he was, in front of a full board, as he tried to explain to them why their company was coming under investigation for mining fraud.

"So, once the inspectors reach the mine, they will find a perfectly functional mine with proper gold-bearing ore?" asked one director, his voice laced with skepticism.

"Absolutely! This entire inspection is nothing but an exercise in excessive zeal after the recent scandals rocking our competitors," assured Murtaugh, trying hard not to sweat. His subordinates were scrambling like crazy to get some semblance of a proper mining operation started. At least the ore was genuine.

"And what of the natives? I understand several of the tribes in those mountains recently got their hands on modern weapons, and have taken to raiding and banditry?" asked the Velvet Iron representative.

Murtaugh mentally cursed. This was the gun-running coming back to bite him. By this point, firearms had spread far and wide in the Congo, the initial supply having been traded and resold to the point where Cold Steel weapons were in the hands of natives who had neither heard nor cared about Cold Steel. They were out to line their own pockets at the expense of everyone else, and the Army was more focused on maintaining peace in the settled areas. The Empire had neither time nor resources to police the remote mountains containing Cold Steel's claim.

"I wonder where the natives keep getting these guns," an Imperial drily commented.

"Well, this is a fine pickle," said an Albishman. "We need to do something about this. I'd say we need some solid security of our own." He leaned forward. "The simple thing is to get in touch with one of these tribes, and promise to arm and supply them if they are willing to fight to keep their fellows off our back."

"Absolutely not!" burst out the Imperial that Murtaugh was half-sure represented the Imperial family. "These rebellious _schwarzer_ need to be hunted down, not encouraged! Besides, it would be treason."

"Not if we hire an Imperial subcontractor," mused Velvet Iron's man. "What we need is a white Imperial citizen who will purchase supplies from us. A citizen who will also be hired as a security consultant. The methods he uses to keep local bandits in check… well, that is hardly our concern is it?"

"A capital idea!" broke in the Albishman cheerfully. "After all, what's it matter how the cat is skinned, eh? As long as we're not breaking any laws, I trust."

"And where will we get such a convenient patsy?" growled the Imperial.

"I'm sure one will present itself once we spread the word." replied the American.

Murtaugh could feel the temperature plunging as the Imperial glared at the Albish and American directors, but the motion was passed.

The next motion then came forward - a very generous offer had come from an outside source to take over Cold Steel's subsidiary Black Diamond.

"Good riddance!" exclaimed the Albishman eagerly. "They've been steadily losing money, even with the order from Abyssinia they're barely in the black. That's too good an offer to refuse."

The Imperial, naturally, wanted to hold on to the company as it provided Cold Steel a firm foothold in Rhodesia, but once more, he was outvoted. Murtaugh himself was glad to see it go. He had no idea why Eckhardt had insisted on building a copper refinery and mineral warehouse in an oversaturated market, or why someone else was now willing to pay good money for it, but selling it would make Cold Steel's balance sheet very happy indeed.

The final discussion was about future expansions to Cold Steel. Here, the Imperial finally got his way. One resolution was to further support the development of the Seychelles and East Africa using Black Earth, even though the Albishman got very sour when he heard how much penetration the agricultural company had in the Allied Kingdom's island colonies.

The second resolution put forth was to take advantage of the political turmoil in Ispagna to expand into Angola. With the entire Ispagnian colonial army gathering in North Africa in expectation of having to intervene at home, the rich diamond producing regions in Angola were largely unsecured. Of course, there was not going to be any official forces committed - that would be an act of war! - but if a private company wanted to hire copious mercenaries to ensure the security of their operations, well that was just business.

The Albish director had looked increasingly alarmed as the plans were laid out for what amounted to corporate takeover of another nation's territory, but the Imperial and American shareholders were all in favor. The redoubtable Becker, naturally, would be in overall charge of both implementing the plan and making sure they kept - however tenuously - within the bounds of legality.

Murtaugh could only look on in quiet horror as he saw representatives of multiple countries glaring across at each other, each of them committed to pushing his company into a more and more reckless course.

_Three years_, he thought to himself. He only needed to last another three years. At that point he could exercise the stock options awarded him as part of his contract, collect his reward, and flee as far as he could from Africa.

Once again he quietly cursed that bitch Eckhardt for getting him into this mess.

* * *

**December 7, 1930, Addis Ababa, Abyssinia**

Viktoriya Serebryakov - Visha to her friends - tried not to sigh. It had been almost two years since she had realized her feelings for the Major - no, for _Tanya_ \- ran much deeper than simple friendship. And while they had been two very exciting years, sometimes she wondered if her concern for her wonderful, fascinating, infuriating superior would end up driving her prematurely gray.

Truth be told, she would never have realized that Tanya was interested in her that way, or that she returned her feelings, if it wasn't for their last meeting in Londinium, when for the briefest moment the younger girl had bared her soul before fleeing into the streets.

At that time, Visha had put it down to the emotion of the moment. She'd tried to persuade herself that she was only imagining things. Especially since having such feelings for a girl who wasn't even in her teens would have raised eyebrows in even the most permissive societies. But the next time Visha had met the Major, her first thought on beholding had been to realize that Tanya had turned fourteen, and was thus past the age of consent in the Empire.

Elya might have accused Visha of being a prude, but that did not make her naive. She was perfectly aware that sometimes people found love with other people of the same sex, and while such couples might not have been considered normal, they were accepted in the Empire as long as they were discreet. The age gap between her and Tanya was significant for now, but four years would shrink to nothing as they both grew older. And anyone suggesting that Tanya wasn't mature enough clearly had never met the girl.

What had followed was month on month of carefully feeling out her intimidating superior. Teasing and innuendo and revealing clothes and simply being there for each other, trying to see if there really was something between them that was worth pursuing

Occasionally her enthusiasm got away from her. Visha still winced at the memory of the incident involving the dog collar. Yes, Tanya's face had been hilarious and it had been a pretty good revenge for all the grief and teasing the girl had piled on her, but afterwards it occurred to Visha that it might have been too much too soon. By this time Visha had figured out that, amazing as it may seem, when it came to romance Tanya was naught but a talented amateur.

Which, in hindsight, made sense. Tanya had first been raised in a nunnery, then by soldiers, and hadn't even reached puberty when she had gone on the run. Being around grown men might have given her some idea of the language, but it was clear to Visha that Tanya didn't know how to go beyond flirting. It would explain why after every significant step forward Tanya would try and retreat into professionalism. Well, that, and Tanya's very strange objection to having an affair with a subordinate. Visha didn't know where she got it from, but on more than one occasion Tanya had expressed a negative view of pursuing romantic relations with one's juniors. It was an odd point of morality, but one Visha knew she couldn't simply ignore.

So, for some time now, Visha had opted for slowly increasing their level of intimacy, and always giving Tanya space when she started showing signs of discomfort. Visha saw nothing wrong with romancing one's superior if it was the subordinate's idea, but she had to take it slow to overcome Tanya's natural stubbornness. It was even fun in a way - each new assault on Fortress Tanya was a bit like falling in love all over again.

Visha had to admit though, Boris and Svetlana had been the best idea yet. For the first time Tanya had actually seemed to relax into physical intimacy. It had been honestly painful to leave such enjoyable disguises behind to once more take up the role of stern superior and dutiful subordinate, and all the professional distance that implied.

There was however one important caveat that had led to Visha accepting the change. When Tanya had assigned her the role of chief trainer to the Abyssinian mages, it had been with the words, "You can't simply stay my adjutant forever."

That told Visha something important - it told her that Tanya was seeking to move Visha out of her role as the Major's subordinate. Which could only mean one thing - the same legal mind that had so often cunningly twisted the rules of war to her own benefit had finally found a way around her own moral objections. As long as Visha could prove able to stand on her own two feet, she would no longer be someone with whom Tanya would have to maintain her distance.  
Visha had been surprised at how difficult it was. Without the Major there to instantly correct her if she did something wrong, she'd had to rely entirely on her own judgement. But she powered through it, taking advice from her fellow Imperials whenever she could.

The hardest part, though, was watching Tanya fly off into danger without being there to watch her back. Even as Visha helped the Abyssinian mages slowly grasp the intricacies of aerial spellcraft, Tanya was out there every day skirmishing with Ildoan interlopers, and even occasionally staging raids into Eritrea to scout and disrupt enemy preparations.

For months Visha had been seeing Tanya only for a day or two before they'd be separated for weeks on end. With only a single company of battle ready mages, they had to maintain an operational tempo matched only by their time on the Rhine front. Even Visha had to take her turn, leading her own three-man squad.

And now, Visha was facing something which almost guaranteed that she wouldn't be seeing Tanya in the Abyssinian capital anytime soon.

"It is good to see you again, Brigadier Lergen. You certainly deserve the promotion."

Erich von Lergen sipped his coffee before replying. "Thank you, Ms. Serebryakov. It is good to see you doing so well. Although it is a shame you no longer wear the Empire's uniform."

"I had my reasons, I'm afraid. I hope you can forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. But in case you have second thoughts -"

"Not at all, sir. I'm very happy where I am," insisted Visha.

"Good, good. But I hope you don't mind, I was hoping to meet Ms. Degurechaff. Is she available?"

"I haven't seen the Major since Londinium, I'm afraid." Visha shook her head sadly. "Besides, why should a fugitive from Imperial custody want to see you?"

"I am merely here as an ambassador, Ms. Serebryakov," replied Lergen placidly. "I have neither the authority nor the inclination to pursue the former Major for whatever crimes she may or may not be accused of. In fact, I might even have some things to say that might be advantageous for her to hear."

"I'm glad the Empire is turning away from that ridiculous vendetta. But I'm afraid you're mistaken. To the best of my knowledge Tanya von Degurechaff is nowhere near Abyssinia."

"An, of course." Lergen gave a sage nod of understanding. "Well, my offer really is for any capable aerial mage. And since Degurechaff isn't available...I've heard impressive things about the leader of the Silver Lance Company. A Ms. Jennifer Ecks, I believe?"

"Oh, she certainly is quite impressive," agreed Visha. "But I'm afraid she's not available either. I can take a message, if you'd like. I am her second."

Lergen's demeanor grew stern. "I'm afraid this is not the sort of thing that you can pass on in a message. May I know when she will be available?"

Visha's expression grew regretful. "I'm afraid our company is completely stretched running aerial patrols on the whole country. Colonel Ecks is scheduled for roving patrol for the next several weeks at least. We need to make sure the Ildoans are kept off balance at least until the first class of Abyssinian aerial mages are ready for duty."

"Ah, a Colonel is she?"

Visha had to keep from bristling at the skeptical eyebrow. "The Emperor saw fit to grant us all temporary ranks in his army for the duration of our contract. I'm a Major myself."

"I see." Lergen took another sip of his coffee. "Nonetheless I must insist on speaking to her. I too am under orders, you see. Perhaps transport can be arranged to wherever she is based?"

Visha gave a bland smile. "There is no way we can risk the life of the Empire's ambassador by allowing you to enter a potential combat zone. Not without a direct order from Emperor Tafari himself."

Underneath her blank exterior, Visha wondered what it was the Brigadier wanted to say to Tanya. Alas, Tanya was adamant. Even if Lergen was all but sure she and Ecks were the same person, actually meeting face to face might just give the Imperial officer confirmation. And with confirmation, the Empire would have reason to start putting pressure on Tafari to hand her over. Assuming, of course, that the Empire didn't discard all diplomatic niceties and simply send the 207th for a romp through Abyssinia.

Visha spent another half an hour stonewalling the Brigadier before he left. She couldn't help but worry, though. She knew Tanya was more nervous about pursuit than she let on. There was a possibility that Lergen would actually get Tafari to sign off on heading out into the border regions for a face to face with Tanya. At which point Tanya might just decide to cut and run.

Which would be a shame. Visha really was curious as to what Lergen was here about.

* * *

**January 4, 1931, Abyssinia-Eritrea border region**

I had to give Lergen points for persistence. He actually did manage to get the Emperor to sign off on a tour of the border, including a meeting with yours truly. Well, I suppose those are the perks of representing Europe's pre-eminent power.

The meeting itself, when it happened, passed fairly easily. To all appearances, he was here to offer a well-known and capable freelance aerial mage an extremely lucrative contract to do what she was already doing, only somewhere else.

I didn't let that fool me for a second. If Lergen didn't spend the entire meeting trying to trip me up, then that could only be because he'd already satisfied himself as to my true identity within the first couple of minutes.

The only question remained, what was the real reason behind this offer?

"It is surprising," I ventured, "That the Empire would reach out to a freelancer like me to train the Turkmen's mages. After all, the Empire's mage corps is renowned for their skill. Surely official Imperial mages can provide a far higher standard of training than my ad hoc company?"

"It is a delicate situation," he replied. "Right now the Albish and Americans have come out in strong support of the various Arabian principalities struggling against the rule of Istanbul. If the Empire directly supports the Turkish government, it might put us in conflict with them. A freelancer, on the other hand, well, there's not much they can do about that."

"You know I'm Albish, right?" I pointed out. And it was true, I had modeled my Jennifer Ecks persona after Jenny, accent and all.

"Strange, how the Albish deny ever training a mage with your description. Still, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."

"Of course," I said, trying to keep my poker face. I should have known Lergen would have done his homework. I tried a different tack. "I'm concerned that the Turkmen might not be very welcoming. I'd heard that their religion takes a dim view on unmarried women going around openly fighting." This was a bit of a stab in the dark. While I knew an analog to Islam existed in this world, I had no idea what their stance on female aerial mages were, or if the Turkmen Empire was particularly devout.

"As a foreigner, you would of course be outside such strictures," came the response. Meaning the Turkmen were a bunch of religious nutjobs. Joy.

"That still doesn't sound very comfortable," I demurred.

"If it is a question of compensation…" he trailed off.  
"The compensation is fine." In fact, it was more than fine. One hundred and twenty Turkish lira a month for every aerial mage I supplied. At a little under twenty marks to the lira, that was around twice what I had made as a Major. And that was just the basic rate. Each officer would be paid two hundred lira, and I myself would be paid four hundred. Not to mention combat bonuses. The money didn't matter that much to me, seeing as how I was a multi-millionaire in marks. But it would very much matter to my troops. If Lergen publicized his offer, he could probably buy everyone but Visha out from under me.

And that was leaving out the real prize. Every mage reporting for the assignment would be given the Imperial Standard Type 30 computation orb, gratis. Apparently they still hadn't figured out how to mass-manufacture dual-core orbs, meaning each one was hellishly expensive and limited only to elite battalions. So the Empire kept updating their single core orbs for the rest of their mage forces, and the Standard Type 30 was the latest fruit of that research. From the spec sheets Lergen had handed me, it outperformed the Standard Type 24, the Elenium Type 93 and the Hughes M27, though the M27 still had it beat on mana efficiency.

I wanted it, there was no denying that fact. Yet I was aware that it could just be very juicy bait in a trap. The Turkmen government was clearly very friendly with the Empire, it wouldn't take much to convince them to set a trap once I was deep in their territory.

I couldn't say that out loud though, because there was no reason for Jennifer Ecks to be worried about a trap. No matter how threadbare my disguise, the first law of the criminal must be followed - deny, deny, deny. So instead I tried a different tack. "No matter how excellent the offer, I still have a duty to my existing client. Surely the Turkmen do not wish to hire a contractor who is willing to abandon their contract for the highest bidder."

"The first Abyssinian mage companies are entering the field as we speak. I would say that's an adequately completed contract."

"Their training was rushed for the sake of putting warm bodies in the air. You probably know this, but it takes two years to fully train an aerial mage."

"That is in the normal course of events. In an urgent situation with a sufficiently skilled trainer, I know for a fact that training periods can be cut to just months," came the bland response.

I mentally cursed the reference to my extremely abortive training of the 203rd. That crazy promise I'd made had resulted in unreasonable expectations following me throughout my career in the Empire. It seemed I wasn't free from that albatross yet.

"Months can be enough to train a barely adequate mage. But not to train officers. I cannot possibly leave until the Abyssinians have reliable officers for their mages." There, that was something he could not gainsay. And no matter how much money he dangled, I felt I could hold on to at least the ex-203 members by appealing to their professionalism.  
"I see, yes that is true. Still, I hope it doesn't take you too long. After all, the Ildoans are rather furious about their recent losses. They are willing to negotiate a peace agreement with the Emperor, but as a prerequisite they want what they see as foreign influence removed from Abyssinia's court."

That was a hard threat to ignore. While the recent skirmishes might have all gone our way, that was because the Ildoans weren't really trying except with forces the Eritrean garrison had on hand. If the Ildoans ever mobilized their full army, they would steamroll the Abyssinians. Forty years ago the Abyssinian Empire had something approaching technological parity with European powers, but that era was long past. In spite of my best efforts, the only parts of the Abyssinian military that was even approaching modernity was their infantry and their mages. Modern heavy artillery and armor was non-existent, and while they'd managed to get some Great War surplus aircraft and light artillery, those numbers were small.

True, with a decent infantry and mage force the Emperor could carry out quite the guerilla campaign if he was determined enough. But that was one quagmire I had no interest in getting caught up in. That didn't mean I couldn't talk tough, though. "If the Ildoans attempt to take Abyssinia they will find the country a tough nut to crack, that much I can assure you."

"Ah, well, while true, there's a possibility that other European powers might get involved. The Empire feels such an escalation would be in no one's interest."

And there it was. The threat that I'd been hoping would not come. I should have known better. The Empire was clearly willing to commit considerable resources to see me dislodged, including backing any Ildoan attempt on Abyssinia. This didn't mean all hope was lost. War is a chaotic thing, and I was fairly sure any invasion of the country would create enough confusion for me and my company to slip away. And now that I'd been warned, I could start putting resources towards a secure escape route. I just had to get rid of Lergen and his obviously fake offer without causing a diplomatic incident. The best way would be to demand something ridiculous for my cooperation.

"Hmm…," I pretended to muse. "I suppose I could accelerate the officer training to take just another three months. But that's a lot of very intensive work. In exchange I want a few of the Type 30s upfront. Oh, and I want the right to recruit from the Turkmen empire, anyone who for whatever reason isn't recruited by their army." There, no one would agree to such a deal. The Type 30s might not be dual-core orbs, but they were still cutting edge. There's no way the Empire would give away their secret just to bait a trap. And no country as autocratic as the Turkmen would permit a private force to recruit from their vital pool of aerial mages.

"I'll see what I can do," replied Lergen.

I could see he was taken aback at my demands. I decided to drive a final nail into the coffin. "And I'll expect the Turkmen government to mail me their list of known B and A-rank mages who for whatever reason have been deemed unsuitable for their army. Might as well hit the ground running when I get there."

He blinked at me for a moment, then said, "Anything else?"

"No. That'll do."

"And if you get all that, I can expect you in Istanbul by the end of April?" he confirmed.

"Of course."

I had to admire Lergen for keeping to the pretense, even though inside he must be seething in frustration. He even took the time to get my demands in writing.

I felt a bit bad about giving him the runaround like this. But once the Empire decided the bait for the trap was too expensive, they'd either give up, support the Ildoans in striking at Abyssinia, or try a covert attempt of their own. The last option would be the most dangerous for me, but as long as I stayed alert, kept mobile, and had a ready escape plan, I should be able to get out from under.

In the meantime, there was something more immediate that demanded my attention. Visha's birthday was coming up, and I needed a suitable present.

* * *

**January 11, 1931, Berun, The Empire**

Chancellor Zettour looked on in some concern at just how deep Lergen drank from the offered glass of brandy.

"That bad?" he asked the younger man gravely.

"She insists she'll need at least three months before she considers her current agreement with Abyssinia sufficiently fulfilled." replied Lergen as he adjusted his glasses.

Zettour nodded. "I think we can keep the Ildoans calm for at least that long."

"She also had a list of demands."

Zettour went over the list Lergen handed him, his eyebrows climbing up to his hairline. "Ambitious, isn't she?"

"She's clearly trying to form her own aerial mage corps, and she's willing to use us to do it." growled Lergen.

"Can you blame her? Still, I'm glad we can finally nail down where her ultimate ambition lies," said the Chancellor.

"Surely you're not going to agree to this?" came the surprised response.

"The Type 30 is only going to be cutting edge for a couple of years. Already Elenium labs is promising us an improved version of the Type 93, now that we've got someone saner than Schugel in charge. Sacrificing a temporary advantage to move Degurechaff to support one of our nominal allies… I can see it being worth the price."

"Do you really think we can control her?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," chuckled the Chancellor. "But I do think she will allow herself to be used, for the right price."

"And do you think the price is worth it?"

The chancellor looked at the Brigadier, and refrained from pointing out that scowling like that just made Lergen look a lot older than his thirty-six years. Instead he replied, "An interesting question, Brigadier. One I think could be best answered by the Legadonians. Or the Dacians. Or the Francois."

Lergen grumbled something under his breath, before saying, "The Turkmen will need to agree. Do they even have lists like that?"

"We'll just have to do our best. As for the Turkmen, they really are in dire need of all the military help they can get. First Rumelia unites long enough to kick them out, and now the Albish are running rings around them in Arabia. We'll help them discreetly, but their own pride means an independent contractor will be easier for them to accept than direct aid from us. I think they'll go for it."

There was a pause, then Lergen said, "You know, if it wasn't for all her achievements in battle, I would say the Empire made a mistake in placing her on the field instead of in Intelligence."

"Oh?" Zettour gave a curious look.

Lergen nodded. "Even though the presence of Serebryakov and other evidence almost guaranteed that Ecks was Degurechaff… As I sat there speaking to her I could have sworn I was speaking to a native of Albion or Eire. I'm no mage to see through illusions, but you can't create such smooth mannerisms and flawless accents using magic. I can see why she's managed to hide herself for so long."

"That is very interesting, Brigadier. Truly, she deserves the title of prodigy."

"Yes, quite. I'll be honest, the only thing that really gave her away was her ambition." Lergen tapped the paper containing Tanya's list of demands. "It was when I saw that list that I realized I was in fact talking to Tanya von Degurechaff."

* * *

**January 28, 1931, undisclosed location near Roma, Ildoa**

"And are these children of _faith_?"

The Ildoan major took a deep breath, before saying. "All of them were raised in devout families, and in one case a Church-run orphanage."

"Oh, happy day! Just like my first great success! It is a sign, I tell you! A sign from God blessing our partnership!" raved the man with the wild grey hair and a monocle.

The major felt disgusted as the raving lunatic was escorted back to his lab, along with the four children. The children were all between ages five and ten, tested with a minimum B-rank potential, and as the so-called scientist had specified, from devout backgrounds… and also poor backgrounds, so they wouldn't be missed. They had also been mildly sedated, otherwise they would undoubtedly have panicked at the madman's appearance.

The major had seen the reports on what this madman had done to the children the Empire had entrusted to his care. From what he could tell, the man's so-called science consisted of strapping highly unstable and untested orb designs to the children, and then joining them in praying for divine intervention. As far as the major could tell, the real miracle was that there had been so many survivors of Schugel's previous attempts, before the Empire shut down his project and tried to arrest the man for gross negligence.

Alas, with the proverbial cunning of the insane, Adelheid von Schugel had fled the Empire with enough of his design notes to interest the Duce. Within a week of his arrival, he'd managed to produce a refinement to their existing military orbs.

With his bona fides established, the Duce had signed off on his project to recreate his magnum opus, the quad-core computation orb and a mage capable of wielding it. The reasoning was that Schugel had had enough time to make the most obvious mistakes at the Empire's expense. Now Ildoa would reap the benefits of his greater experience while paying a much lower cost.

The major was in charge of the project, and he had very little optimism on the matter. His sole morbid consolation was that the need for discretion, the specified age limits, and the rarity of aerial mages meant the good doctor's casualty count would perforce have to be on the low side.

The major was honestly looking forward to the day the Duce would come to his senses and execute the lunatic. In the meantime, his prayers would be for the poor children. _Let them all live, and should the worst happen, let their sacrifice not be in vain._


	33. Chapter 33

_A\N: Working draft of the next chapter is available on my Pat reon__._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 33**

**March 8, 1931, Addis Ababa, Abyssinia**

When you know the wolves are circling, it is human instinct to go on the defense. To husband your resources and try and outlast the assault. And, sometimes, that works. Most times though, the wolves don't come calling until they know you are weak.

You don't beat an encirclement by turtling up and hoping for the best. You beat it by aiming for the weak spot and breaking through. Having spent years leading a force that was routinely outnumbered by the enemy, it was a lesson that was ingrained in me to the point of instinct.

The real trick, of course, was spotting the weak point, and then gathering enough force to shatter it. Right now, as I played with the Standard Type 30 computation orb - one of a set of three that had been delivered last week, with more promised once I reached Istanbul - I pondered the encirclement closing on me, and where the weak points were.

Fact - the identity of Jennifer Ecks was now only useful as a diplomatic fiction. The Empire would not be going to such trouble to court any ordinary mercenary mage. And if the Empire had figured it out, the rest of Europe had as well, courtesy of Interpol. Thus, any place where I went under the name Ecks would have to be willing to ignore the inevitable diplomatic pressure. I had hoped Abyssinia would be such a place, but that was before I realized the Empire was willing to commit itself and its allies to open war in Africa to get me back under their thumb.

Fact - I couldn't simply abandon the Ecks identity and once more go on the run. While I was sure Djibouti would welcome back Boris and Svetlana, it would be the height of foolishness to assume my pursuers weren't watching Abyssinia's borders with hawk eyes. At the very least it would require me to leave behind my fellow members of Silver Lance. And while I wasn't shy about cutting losses when I had to, this would very much have to be the last resort.

Fact - the Turkmen appointment was not a trap. At least, not an immediate one. I wouldn't rule out a quiet execution or assassination once I'd served my purpose, but what information I'd gathered indicated the Turkmen government really did need military expertise of all kinds, and getting it directly from the Empire would be diplomatically awkward. Not just because of Albish and American pressure as Brigadier Lergen had implied, but also because when the Rumelian territories had kicked out the Turkmen a few years ago, they'd done it with aid from certain factions in the Empire. Many Turkmen politicians were still salty about that little detail. In that respect, I was ideal. A mage trainer and leader of proven ability that the Empire believed they could control, but with no publicly provable links to them.

Fact - I was not giving up my new-found independence to once more dance to the Kaiser's tune. That ship had more than sailed. While I bore Lergen and Zettour no ill-will, I could not subordinate myself once more to a nation that had cast me aside once.

Fact - If I was unwilling to leave behind my men and flee, then I needed to control enough force that eliminating me becomes a non-trivial exercise. At that point, I would have the leverage to reclaim my agency.

One could argue that my current predicament was entirely due to my recklessness in re-introducing Jennifer Ecks to the world. And perhaps I am to blame for letting my impatience get the better of me. But at the same time, I was tired. After five years and three continents, I was sick of constantly staying on the move and in disguise. I wanted to live without the constant strain of an illusion covering me, and the itch of a wig and the unending attention to my make-up. I wanted to openly fly through the air with Visha at my side.

Before me stood two paths. The first was the path of stealth. This involved giving up everything I'd built over the years, liquidating my assets and terminating contact with my followers - make a complete break from anything that could connect me to any of my previous identities. And I can't say there wasn't a certain appeal to the idea. I certainly had enough money for a quiet retirement to some out of the way spot. The only downside was that I'd almost certainly have to give up Visha's company. I couldn't imagine an adventurous spirit like her would ever agree to vegetate in some rustic countryside for the several years it would take the world to forget about me. And even though I knew that one day she'd leave to live her own life, that just made the thought of hastening our split even more painful.

Thus we came to the second option - go big. Openly acquire enough power and influence that I could keep hold of everything I had in spite of the world and Being X. In a way, I'd already tried to implement this strategy in Abyssinia. In hindsight though, Abyssinia was not the best place for such an attempt. Sure, it was the strongest independent African state. It was also a moribund feudal society surrounded on all sides by my far more modern enemies.

The Turkmen, on the other hand, were ideal. Largely antagonistic to most European powers, yet strong enough that attacking them would be a major commitment even for the Empire. Best of all, they shared no direct borders with any major European power save the Russy Federation. Thankfully the Communists were too busy butting heads with the Akitsushimani Dominion - this world's version of the Japanese Empire - to care about anyone else. If I could establish myself as an essential part of the Turkmen military machine, I'd once more have a homeland, one strong enough to protect my liberty.

Of course, this was easier said than done. There was a reason the Turkmen Empire had earned the title 'Sick Man of Europe'. It would take a lot of work on my part to hammer their mage corps into something decent. Yet if I succeeded, I should be able to garner enough merit that they would be very reluctant to let me go.

And, even if they did choose to dispense with my services, I was determined to gather enough strength that they'd have to think twice before trying to dispense with me. Which led to the meeting I was in right now.

"I want to hit the ground running with the Turks," I said. "I'll be relying on you Visha."

"I don't like leaving your side. Not with the Empire knowing where you are," she frowned.

"Don't worry, I'll stay on the move. But Koenig is the only other person with the experience to handle something like this, and I trust you more." Plus, Koenig was busy in Rhodesia, not that I couldn't call him up if I really needed his services. Instead I tried to console her, "It's only for six weeks at most. I just need to wrap things up here and then I'll join you."

Visha reluctantly nodded. "All right, but be careful. Are you sure you can afford to send three others with me? I could get by with just one assistant."

"Don't be silly, Visha. You won't just be setting up a completely new mage training facility for the Turkmen army, but you'll also have to set up an outreach program to find new recruits for Silver Lance. And you'll have to do all that in a country where none of us speak the language. Having three others to do the legwork is the bare minimum."

Visha didn't argue further, which was good. Honestly, the girl really was unambitious. What kind of subordinate fights the opportunity to literally build their own fiefdom? Yes, detaching four mages from my limited pool would definitely limit my Abyssinian operations. But with the Ildoans backing off recently and the first class of Abyssinian mages about to graduate, it was a handicap I could afford.

And I really needed the Turkish operation set up as soon as possible. The list of available mages showed what I had suspected - not only did the Turkmen forbid their women from serving in their army, but almost none of them entered the workforce as doctors or engineers, the two other big areas of applied magic. Meaning effectively half the country's population of aerial mages were available to me for recruitment.

Of course, religious dogma and social pressure - not to mention the potential danger - would drastically limit the number of women who would be willing to sign on with a PMC like mine. That's why I'd taken out a loan from my Wald bank to furnish Visha with a small war chest. That money was to be dangled in front of potential recruits and their families as a signing bonus. Hopefully, some of the poorer women would let greed override their self-preservation. If I had to gather enough strength to keep myself free and safe, then Silver Lance had to expand, and quickly.

Speaking of which…"Visha, make sure to include Staelle in your group." Staelle was the girl sent by the shaman Abara. Like her teacher, she too knew the orbless mage detection trick. Experimentation over the last few months had shown that the spell was only really useful for picking up on stronger mages. But since those were the kind I was most interested in, it was definitely a useful spell, and I'd taken the time to learn it. I'd also encouraged the others to learn it, but only Visha had been able to duplicate it so far.

Visha immediately realized why I wanted her to take the Congolese girl. "Don't the Turkmen already carry out mage testing of their people?"

"They do, but if you study the lists it's obvious their testing is lacking coverage… and they also have a bad habit of ignoring all the many ethnic minorities in their Empire. That's a luxury we can't afford."

"What's my target?"

I almost laughed. As if Visha would find more than a handful of girls willing to leave everything behind to become an international mercenary. "As many as you can fit in your budget. Surprise me," I told her with a smile.

* * *

**March 18, 1931, New York, Unified States**

Lena huffed as she left the district courthouse. She could remember a time when she'd had ambitions to rise above her station, get an education, a good job, a nice house. Well she had all of those things, at the low, low price of permanently being on the District Attorney's hit list.

It was one of those little ironies that even though the DA was a Democrat, he was also a political rival to Mayor Hague of Jersey. Since this was an election year, the DA was desperate for a big win to guarantee his re-election, and had settled on Lena as his cause of choice. He'd publicly declared Velvet Iron a menace to society, and had been throwing everything he could at her.

Not that he could get anything to stick. Lena had learned from the Devil of the Rhine herself on how to maintain a veneer of legality over her actions. No matter how many raids the DA led on VIP's customers and facilities, proving that VIP was involved in any illegality was beyond his ability. Truth be told, the closest he'd come to inconveniencing her was when he'd launched an investigation into her possibly being an illegal immigrant. But after five years of working and paying her taxes, her identity was rock solid.

In fact, there were days when she felt Lydia Brown was her true name, and Lena Fernandez nothing more than memories of a past life. Certainly, her life had only really taken off after she became Lydia. Before then it had been nothing more than a holding pattern of scrimping and saving and unfulfilled dreams.

Shaking off her maudlin mood, she glanced at her jeweled Cartier wristwatch and told her driver, "Head to Trinity School." While Jenny usually insisted on making her own way home, Lena figured she might as well pick her up since she'd brought the car out. The discreetly armored Lincoln pulled away and headed for Wall Street.

Lena sighed and wondered if the constant headaches were worth it. True, Tanya was a generous employer. But that hefty paycheck came with the non-zero chance of being killed by disgruntled gangsters, hence the armored car and the bodyguard who entered the car with her. God knows her cousin Sal would freak if he ever realized exactly what her business entailed. There were days when she was seriously tempted to quit and find some much more modest line of work.

Unfortunately, one look out the car window was enough to put paid to such thoughts. It wasn't very noticeable since they were passing through the good part of town, but the signs were there for those who knew to look. Businesses failing, banks closing, men out on the streets hungry and looking for work. National unemployment had hit 15% and was showing no signs of falling anytime soon. Not a good time to re-enter the job market.

Lena had heard rumors that in an effort to shore up his rapidly fading popularity, the President was thinking of repealing Prohibition. Which might help the common man drown his sorrows, but would also be a definite blow to Velvet Iron. A depressingly large chunk of their business came from acting as security for New York's alcohol smugglers. Well, thought Lena cynically, at least we'll still have the drug-peddlers, gamblers, and whores.

More realistically, Velvet Iron would be extending operations to Africa in their search for customers. With Cold Steel performing hostile takeovers in Angola, they had a big demand for reliable security in the region, and Velvet Iron had a large pool of agents going spare thanks to the depression. Lena was a bit leery of pushing VIP to become a mercenary outfit even more obviously than they already were. But, unless she was willing to let go of people the company had invested months training, this was the best option.

Half an hour later, her adopted daughter Jenny had joined her in the car. Lena was relieved to see no fresh bruises on Jenny's knuckles. You'd think that one of New York's most prestigious schools would be above such things as schoolyard brawls.

Unfortunately, Jenny's debut on the silver screen had been almost as massive a success as Tanya's, and infamy followed fame as Jenny decided to openly come in support of those with alternative sexual preferences. This particular combination seemed to act as catnip for the cattiest specimens of the high school population. And since Jenny had yet to meet a confrontation she was unwilling to escalate, it was an ongoing race to see which came first - her graduation or her expulsion.

As the car started again, Jenny let out a deep sigh. "Just three more days 'til Spring Break."

Lena nodded. "Do you have any plans?"

"Not really. The next shoot don't start till summer, and I've been 'round Hollywood enough times already."

"Then would you like to come to the office? It's been a while since you've helped with the actual running of the company."

Jenny groaned. "That's _boring_. I'm not sure I want to join the family business."

Lena rolled her eyes. _Family business_ indeed. "If you can promise me to stay out of trouble, I promise not to find something for you to do. That means no hanging out with your pothead friends."

"Fiiine, _mom_." Jenny brightened up. "Say, once the shoot is over this summer… think we can go meet Tan - I mean Jennifer?"

"We'll see. Getting into the Turkmen Empire isn't the easiest thing right now."

"So it's set? She's going?"

"Indeed she is. Although if she'll still be there by the time you're ready to go is an open question."

"Thought you said it was a long term contract."

"I said that's what Jennifer is hoping for. But you know what they say about plans."

"Yeah...Say, you know Hughes figured out Jennifer was in Abyssinia? No, I didn't tell him. But last time we talked he was mumbling about flying the both of us out there to shoot his next picture," mused Jenny.

"That man is stubborn, I'll give him that much," sighed Lena.

"Definitely a bit obsessed, he is," agreed Jenny. "Still, what I was asking, think I should tell him she's on her way to the Turkmen Empire? Might save us all some hassle, else he might drag the whole studio off to Abyssinia."

Lena considered it for a moment. "Wait until Tanya actually makes the move. As far as I know it's not supposed to be a secret, but no point blabbing about it beforehand."

"Yeah, ok. I'll tell him come summer. That way if he decides to go I can hitch a ride."

"You realize the Turkmen are followers of Mohammed?" asked Lena in a warning tone. "They have _very_ firm views on acceptable behavior for girls. You get in trouble with them... then I guess Jennifer will be there to deal with you personally."

The brief flash of concern on Jenny's face was most gratifying. Lena just wished she could intimidate Jenny like that, it would have made looking after her so much easier.

While she wasn't sure if the Turkmen would be the haven Tanya was looking for, she hoped it would be. They might have not been together very long, but Tanya was one of the few genuine friends Lena had. With any luck, by the time Jenny got there Tanya might even be living under her real name.

* * *

**April 3, 1931, somewhere in the Wallachian Carpathian Mountains, The Empire**

The facility had been cleaned up, but Mary fancied she could still see the bloodstains on the beds where, according to the records, the medical mages had put back together the poor children forced to participate in the horrors perpetrated here.

It might have just been her imagination, but Mary thought she could almost taste the dangerous magicks unleashed by minds steeped in madness. Considering how the place was currently abandoned, it was entirely possible the Imperials had felt the same.

Over the years of pursuing Degurechaff, never before had the American-Legadonian mage wished that she was following a false lead.

When the Imperials had announced that they had misplaced the designer of the original Elenium Type 95 computation orb, it had triggered a quiet panic in the international community.

Sure, the Imperials claimed he was wanted for gross criminal negligence and violating the peacetime age limits on military recruits, but it didn't take a genius to guess what exactly Dr. Schugel had been working on. There was a reason his work would have been located in this remote facility hidden in the mountains of newly conquered Dacia. And when he was reported as absconding, Mary's mind had immediately gone to the worst case scenario - the fanatical creator of the Type 95 was even now fleeing to rejoin the mage who had cemented his place in history, to once more arm her with a weapon that could devastate nations.

Alas, by all evidence Degurechaff was still in Abyssinia. Interpol had no entry there. The best they could hope for was that the Ildoans, Franks and Albish would all be motivated to watch the country's borders carefully and make sure the doctor went nowhere near his former partner in crime.

In the meantime, Mary's team had wrangled permission to visit Schugel's labs. None of them stated it out loud, but all of them (except maybe Elya Roth) were hoping to find evidence that Schugel had indeed been working on quad-core research. While enforcing international treaties was outside Interpol's remit, embarrassing the Empire was a cause she and Paquet were more than happy to get behind. Besides, if there was even the slightest chance Schugel could bestow on Degurechaff the ability to repeat Brest, the world needed to be warned.

Naturally, the Imperials had gone to considerable lengths to clean up any evidence of them violating the quad-core ban. According to the paperwork, Schugel was ostensibly researching the next generation of dual-core orbs. That was the Empire's story and they were sticking to it. The only way to prove otherwise would be capture and interrogate Schugel. That was not likely to happen, though. The Empire were the ones demanding his arrest, so unless Schugel committed some fresh new outrage elsewhere, he would be remanded back into Imperial custody for prosecution.

That didn't stop Mary's team from poking around looking for clues. As Elya admitted, Schugel was too dangerous for them to skimp on the investigation, no matter how potentially embarrassing for the Empire.

From the timeline their team had put together, the experiments had initially used adult test mages. But as failure followed failure, Schugel had become more and more adamant about recreating the circumstances that had led to the previous breakthrough.

Through a combination of threats, bribery, and abusing his own rank, Schugel had managed to acquire several children between the ages nine and thirteen for his experiments. They only had rudimentary training, but that was all they needed to activate Schugel's prototypes. This would have been bad enough, but then Schugel had hit upon using a combination of mental enhancement and mind-altering drugs to force his test subjects into a heightened state of consciousness so they could control his designs more easily.

It was only when the first child died that some of the facility's staff grew a conscience and reported him to the authorities. Apparently there had already been deaths among the adult mages, but a dead ten-year-old had a weight all of its own. Not that it did most of the test subjects much good. Many of them had suffered potentially permanent brain damage due to the combined magical and mental doping.

All this had been pieced together over weeks of investigation. Their team had been poring over the scraps of information the Empire had begrudgingly giving them access to, but most of their data had come from interviewing the personnel involved with the experiments. And, after weeks of such interviews, Mary was feeling disgusted with the entire human race.

You'd think the kind of people who could stand by and allow such atrocity would have something to make them stand out from the common man, some mark of evil. Instead what she got were pettifogging bureaucrats, bored guards, and callous scientists. The most common excuse for their actions? 'We were following orders.'

Frustratingly, in many instances that was a legally valid excuse. As the chief of a top secret military project, Schugel had a very high priority on procurement and personnel, and the Empire had never revoked conscription of aerial mages at any and all ages. Only a few of those involved in the experiments could be proven to have acted outside their remit. In fact, if it wasn't for the enormous danger Schugel's knowledge represented, Mary was certain the Empire would have kept quiet about his disappearance and brushed the whole thing under the rug.

By this point, their team had almost wrapped up their investigation. They just had a few more people to talk to, and then they'd have to decide on their next move. Deciding she had wasted enough time woolgathering, Mary made her way to the interview room.

Looking in through the two-way mirror, she could see their latest interviewee. Clad in a grey prisoner's jumpsuit, the broad brown-haired man was still powerfully built even after almost three years in military prison. Laugh lines around his brown eyes indicated a normally jovial personality that was currently in abeyance. Even sitting still with his hands manacled, he radiated an aura of danger that Mary was coming to expect from Degurechaff's former subordinates.

It was ironic that the one person who had most vigorously protested Schugel's experiments was also the one to have spent years in prison for his trouble. There was word of releasing him early, but the byzantine Germanian bureaucracy was taking its time on the matter. In the meantime, two military policemen stood guard outside the interview room, ready to escort Neumann back to prison once Interpol released him.

After spending a moment studying the former Lieutenant Neumann, Mary moved on to their main office. For a change, the entire team was present. Captain Strong, Mr. Paquet, and Elya. "He say anything of interest?" Mary asked.

"Not much. He's the most cooperative of the lot, but most of what he's giving us is confirmation on what we got already from other sources," replied Elya. "Still, he gave us enough that we'll be able to put a couple more bastards behind bars. And hey, wherever he is, Schugel will be breathing funny for the rest of his life after the way Neumann flattened his nose. Silver linings."

"And what did he have to say about Degurechaff?" was Mary's next question. At Captain Strong's suggestion, Mary had excused herself when the topic had turned to the former Major.

"He's scared of her," said Strong.

"What, really? Him?" Mary's mind cast back to the intimidating figure sitting in the interrogation room. It was hard to believe that the man would be scared of anything.

Elya chuckled. "Definitely quite a bit of caution there. That's one man who'd never willingly go up against his former commander. Well, not that he's likely to go against her anyway."

"Just because he was one of her company commanders doesn't automatically mean Neumann's still loyal to her," Mary pointed out.

"Ms. Sioux has a point," spoke up Paquet. "Monsieur Neumann has not had any contact with Degurechaff since her arrest. Still, one wonders how his recent experiences will have affected his loyalties."

Mary could follow the logic. Neumann had chosen to go to prison rather than accept what was happening. But what had happened here had happened once before, during the development of the original Type 95. As part of their investigation, they had asked for the detailed personnel reports from the first development team. Three adult mages had died between 1921 and 1923, and then Schugel had gotten his hands on Degurechaff. Over the course of three months, the then 9-year-old had ended up in the infirmary six times, twice for injuries that would have rendered her invalid if not for the existence of magical healing. At which point even the legendarily fearless Tanya Degurechaff had requested a transfer back to the front lines for the sake of her own health. In fact, the entire project had been on the verge of being cancelled when the Type 95 had miraculously stabilized itself.

Sighing, Mary lay her head down on her folded hands. Sometimes she wondered why God would have allowed such a hideous device to come into existence. Or maybe Schugel had sold his soul to the devil. The man certainly ranted about religion often enough in his private notes. "Do you think Degurechaff would have turned out the way she did if they hadn't put her through… all this?" she mused idly.

"Who knows?" Elya put aside her notes and refilled her coffee cup from the pot on the table. "She was assigned to the project right after she won the Silver Wings. So she was already pretty dangerous way back then. But being blown up repeatedly by her own side… It didn't seem to affect her loyalty to the Empire, but who knows what might have been knocked loose."

"She was a soldier," interjected Captain Strong. "And by all accounts a damn good one. But she was also a kid. Kids treat others the way they are treated. If, God forbid, she went through Schugel's little slice of hell thinking it was normal… it might explain a few things about her later military career."

Paquet perked up and joined the conversation. "_Tres bien_, a most intriguing point, Captain. It might explain the brutal training methods she became infamous for. Yet, at the same time, there are multiple records of her going above and beyond to preserve the lives of her men. An interesting dichotomy, is it not? Perhaps we see here the results of two competing or perhaps complementary influences on her psyche..."

Mary let the flow of conversation wash over her as her brain chewed at the thought like a dog with a bone. It really was true what they said, ignorance is bliss. A few years ago she'd been perfectly happy knowing that Degurechaff was evil incarnate, and that bringing her down was a sacred duty. Now she was getting a close look at the child behind the demon, and the cruelties that child had survived. Much against her wishes, Mary was finding herself sympathizing with the Devil.

Mentally scowling, Mary immediately resolved to keep her newfound feelings a secret from Elya. The Germanian woman had been trying for years to get Mary to see Degurechaff's side of the story, and she'd be absolutely insufferable if Mary ever admitted that maybe, just maybe, Degurechaff was not the root of all the world's ills.

* * *

**April 22, 1931, outskirts of Ancyra, Turkmen Empire**

I had been satisfied when three weeks after Visha's departure, she had written to me saying not only was the Turkmen's new mage training facility ready, but that she had acquired the first five new Silver Lance recruits. These five would join the 50 Turkmen mages in the first training cycle.

A week later, I was pleasantly surprised to receive another message saying our new recruits now totaled twelve.

When the next report a week later said our total recruitment had reached twenty-five, the sudden jump made me sit up and take notice.

When, in the middle of April, Visha wrote saying she'd hit forty recruits, almost all women, I decided I needed to get myself over there post-haste.

Even in a nation as egalitarian as the Empire, women in combat operations had been in the minority. Even among aerial mages where women made up 50% of the population, the vast majority of women were kept far away from direct combat roles. As a result, including Visha and myself there had been only six women among the 48 members of the 203rd. And this was in a situation where universal conscription of aerial mages was the norm.

It was incredible that in a nation with such conservative views on the role of women, Visha would find forty recruits in a matter of weeks. Even with no other magical careers available, what sane woman would leave behind everything familiar to follow a stranger into an international mercenary company where combat would be almost guaranteed?

I was still wondering what on earth had happened when I finally reached the training grounds on the outskirts of Ancyra.

Visha was there waiting for me. "Welcome to Camp Eagle Seven, Colonel. You're here earlier than expected."  
"I decided to come ahead. The others will be following shortly. Report, Major." The Turkmen had been kind enough to give us the same ranks we'd enjoyed in the Abyssinian military, which meant we both got to enjoy our inflated titles for a little while longer.

Visha immediately led me on a very professional tour of the facilities. The camp itself had space to accommodate and serve up to two hundred mages, with a nearby fort supplying any mundane military personnel and gear we might need for our training. The first batch of 50 Turkmen Army mages were due to arrive in May for the start of their training (or in many cases, re-training). Right now, the camp was home to forty-one women (and three men) who represented the first batch of Silver Lance recruits, plus Visha's group.

"I could have gotten more," Visha explained, "But I think we'll already be stretched to the limit so I put a halt on further recruitment until we can get this batch trained up enough to teach others. So far, I've got them running through the theoretical work. Their mathematics isn't as bad as our African recruits, but many of them need quite a bit of polishing up."

"Fine work, Visha. Very fine work indeed. But I have to ask, how did you get so many recruits so quickly?"

"Well, I did as you said Major. I started offering cash as a signing bonus, in exchange for a seven-year contract."

"Even then… so many?"

"Ah well…" Visha was definitely shame-faced. "I didn't give the women the money, so much as I gave it to their families. There are too many families that were willing to order their daughters to sign with us for just a few liras."

I blinked. "You mean you bought their daughters," I stated flatly.

At the ashamed nod, I pinched the bridge of my nose to stave off the oncoming headache. "Visha, we're planning on turning our recruits into lethal weapons. What happens when they decide they don't like being enslaved and decide to shoot us in the back?"

"Oh, don't worry, I made it clear to them that after the first year, any of them are free to go back to their families without penalty. By the time we're ready to take them into combat, no one will be here who doesn't want to be here."

"Thank goodness… but why after the first year?"

"Well, I figure after a year most of them would have gotten used to the life and earning their own money. And, after a year, they'd all have learned at least the basics of flight." Visha gave a sweet smile. "Flying is such a wonderful thing. I don't think many of them would willingly give it up once they got to experience it."

I felt a cold shiver run up my spine. When did my Visha get so manipulative?! It was true, even someone as rational as me could admit the sheer joy that came with unassisted flight. If it wasn't for the constant front line postings, I'd have thoroughly enjoyed my time in the Imperial military. Even the most pacifistic of these girls would undoubtedly be tempted to stay on just to keep access to their flight orbs.

I immediately resolved to pay closer attention to my personal dealings with Visha. While I trusted her with my life, she just might use this newfound devious streak to wheedle all sorts of things out of me. I had to make sure I was firmly in charge of this relationship.

While I was thinking this, Visha had tucked my arm in her own and had led me into a large two-story building. "This is the training staff quarters. I hope you don't mind but I made it double rooms to save space."

"Of course, no need to be extravagant."

"And I assigned us together, of course."

"Of course," I agreed, but I couldn't help but take note how almost excessively nonchalant Visha was being. Was she already angling for something?

She must have seen something in my face and misinterpreted it, because she said, "Don't worry so much about the recruits, Tanya. I'm sure their morale will be excellent by the time we're done. Besides, not all of them were paid for. Eighteen of the girls are volunteers."

"Really? That many?"

"It's all thanks to Sabiha's father. You met her just now."

It took me a moment but I placed the name as one of the trainees' dorm leaders. I had a vague impression of a smart, pretty, precisely uniformed woman of around my age. "Yes, I remember. What about her father?"

"Well, her adopted father is one of the top Turkish generals, one Mustafa Alioglu Pasha. Apparently he'd been searching for years for someone to train his daughter after she showed an interest in becoming an aerial mage. When he set up shop he reached out to me, and in exchange of taking her in, he agreed to help us reach out to other potential recruits. With one of their most famous generals backing our recruitment efforts, a lot of girls were willing to sign up."

"Couldn't he get one of his own people to train her? Why does he need us?"  
Visha scowled. "The Turkmen Mage Corps is an old boy's club. They all know each other, they recruit entirely from certain areas and families, and they're horribly hidebound. In fact, they think this whole training program is a waste of time. Mustafa was one of the prime movers behind the military modernization, and they hate him for bringing in outside consultants like us to show them how to do their jobs. That's probably why he couldn't find anyone willing to train her."

"You think the mages they send us will be uncooperative?"

"I almost guarantee it," she spat. "Those idiots either don't know or don't care about sensory enhancement spells, because I had no trouble hearing what they thought about any aerial mage who let himself be led by a _woman_."

"Well then," I said cheerfully. "We have the right to commandeer equipment from the nearby forts for our training don't we? How's the local artillery, Major?"

Visha's smile was beatific. "Quite adequate to our needs, Colonel. I've already taken the liberty of having them send over a regiment of 75's."

"Well done, Visha."

"Thank you, Tanya," by this time she'd led me into our new bedroom. "You must be tired after your journey. How about a massage once you get settled in?"

I couldn't help but feel a little spike of suspicion. It was uncomfortable, but I kept getting the feeling she was angling for something. Still, that was no reason to throw her goodwill back in her face. "That sounds lovely. But I insist on returning the favor. After dinner?"

"After dinner," Visha agreed happily.

Even with my suspicion I couldn't help but smile at her _joie de vivre_. Still, I had to stay alert. Now that I knew Visha was growing as a manipulator, I couldn't let a decent massage lower my guard. Or else, who knows what she'd slip by me.


	34. Chapter 34

_Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki_

**Chapter 34**

**June 10, 1931, Camp Eagle 7, Ancyra, Turkmen Empire**

Over the past several weeks, Visha had been proved to be painfully correct in her assessment of the Turkmen Army's mages. They were twice as arrogant as any mage who ever flew under Empire colors, with less than half the skill of the average Imperial graduate. Even though the Turkmen army as a whole had been desperately trying to modernize ever since their embarrassing defeat at the hands of the Rumelian independence movements, their mage corps was the last holdout of the traditional aristocracy that had previously dominated their officer corps.

The reason for this was quite interesting. It seemed that unlike Europe which had largely ignored or even outright persecuted magic in the middle ages (except the odd mage who got themselves canonized), the Middle East had celebrated it, and any mage strong enough to perform magic with whatever primitive tools existed at the time rapidly found wealth and advancement being showered on them and their families.

As a result, the better parts of Turkmen society had a genetic predisposition towards magecraft, and the Turkmen were able to put together a somewhat adequate aerial mage corps using just recruits from the 'right' people. This policy had been cast aside only recently in favor of mass recruitment of all qualified males, and so the senior officers of the Turkish aerial mages were almost uniformly of the moneyed classes. And it was these seniors that were first in line for our little training regime.

If I'd had a choice, I'd have thrown the lot back and asked for their newer recruits instead. But I wasn't consulted on the matter. No, I'd been hired for a job, and I had to deal. Our first batch consisted of veteran mages who had been sent for additional training. Well, they called it additional training. I would have called it remedial training as that was what it boiled down to.

Unfortunately, no professional likes to be told that they suck at their job, and that they need to learn how to do it right from some girl much younger than them. Even in the Empire, it would have been a bitter pill to swallow. Then there was the fact that some of these soldiers could claim mages in their family tree dating back centuries. From what I could tell, none of those old-fashioned mages came close to matching the power and versatility of the modern aerial mage, but they still seemed to think this hoary old ancestry counted against my years of very current combat experience. Throw in a culture that encouraged them to look down on women, and it was no surprise that the first few days of the camp had been rife with incidents of insubordination.

It was a good thing I was an old hand at getting people to take me seriously in spite of my appearance. I had to beat down several of the officers, but they soon learned to take me at my word when I threatened dire consequences. The artillery was a big help in convincing them that no matter how much they hated training under me, it could always get worse.

However, I had been worried for Visha. Although she'd trained mages before, she'd never had to deal with such truculent subordinates. I'd already mentally prepared myself to step in if things got out of hand. In my past life I'd occasionally had to deal with cases of sexual harassment in the workplace, and I was fully prepared to face something similar here.

I stopped worrying after the first time one of the Army mages made a crude comment. It had been aimed at one of our female recruits, but it had also been made within Visha's hearing. Fifteen minutes later, Visha finally got done lecturing him on proper conduct. A lecture delivered in its entirety with a mage blade pricking the man's balls.

Naturally, my accursed hormones found that attractive instead of horrifying. It's a good thing that, with almost a hundred students, we were far too busy for me to do anything stupid.

Slowly, painfully, we managed to restore some discipline to both the regular military trainees as well as our own raw recruits. I will say one thing though, having a bunch of jerks sneering at them did wonders to motivate our own recruits to put their noses to the grindstone. It honestly reminded me of some Hollywood high school or college drama from my last life.

Of course, no matter how hard they worked, there was no way our trainees could catch up to the regular troops. The regulars might be arrogant and their training outdated, but they were professional aerial mages. The basics of flight, shielding, shooting, and enchanting, they were adequately versed in all of these. It was mostly a question of breaking them of any bad habits and outdated doctrines (static rifle lines, really?) and instilling in them the mindset and skills of the modern mage.

In the meantime, the ladies (and three gents) of the Silver Lances were struggling through basic exercises, drills, and tutoring in spell structures and formulas. Those first months they weren't even permitted to touch an orb except under strict supervision, and they certainly weren't permitted to leave the ground. There was a bit of grumbling at this at first. Then I started the regulars on artillery drills, and suddenly my recruits saw the virtues of preparatory classwork.

During those first few months I was focused so entirely on getting my training camp off the ground that I barely paid any attention to what went on in the wider world. Luckily, my various investments seemed to be chugging along without much input from me.

I did make sure I successfully took over majority ownership of Black Diamond from Cold Steel, which meant the pitchblende stockpile was now once more under my control. No sign yet of any country having discovered atomics, so I was in it for the long haul.

Black Diamond's CEO had also taken the rather proactive step of setting up copper wire and piping production facilities in Abyssinia to more directly supply Emperor Tafari's infrastructure needs. It meant pouring more money into a company that was barely breaking even, but the good PR from this effort meant the Emperor agreed to give Black Diamond rights to survey for mineral resources. I had no idea what sort of resources Ethiopia might have, but with any luck they'd find something profitable.

My decision to hand over my cash reserves to my Wald bank for investment also turned out well. The returns weren't spectacular, but I had asked for my portfolio to be weighted towards the conservative. More importantly, it was all happening without my having to do any of the work. And since the bank seemed trustworthy, I decided to give them even more of my business. I had a wide portfolio of oddball stocks that I'd picked up in my time in Djibouti and Abyssinia. I dumped them all on my account manager, to sell or hold as the bank saw fit.

And speaking of Djibouti, Sunrise Botanicals had set up their office and were already exploring the possibilities of _khat_ exports to Europe and the Middle East. They were also continuing experiments with chemical boosters to magical enhancements, and seeing some results. I made a mental note to have them send over a sample of the final product if they ever managed to get one that was safe for extended consumption.

The rest of my companies were making ends meet in spite of the ongoing depression. Dark Earth was showing some success in bringing modern agriculture, consumer products, and manufacturing to East Africa and the Seychelles, but they were still a long way from getting back their initial investment. Velvet Iron was having to lean more and more heavily on arms sales to make up for the much reduced demand for their security services. As for Household Magicks, they just had a surprisingly successful public offering, and were expanding rapidly with the new funds.

All in all, I had been relegated to the position of silent partner in almost all my holdings. That was fine by me. I was painfully aware that too many of my companies had dealings on the shady side of the law. The less I knew about it, the better. I'd only step in if something truly egregious showed up in the high-level reports.

For example, Becker was still working for Cold Steel, and he'd sent me a note that the company had ordered him to create what sounded like a private army to expand their operations into Angola. When I read that, I was extremely thankful I'd gotten out while I could. I didn't bother giving him any instructions. He was an adult and a competent officer. I just told him to be very careful not to be caught breaking any laws.

I considered sending a warning to Lena and Vargas, since Velvet Iron and Sunrise still held lots of Cold Steel stock, but then I decided against it. It would be nice if they could use their position as shareholders to steer Cold Steel in a more moral direction, but given what I knew they'd already gotten up to, such expectations were foolish. The best I could hope for is when Lergen inevitably came down on Cold Steel, they'd be smart enough to stay out of the splash zone. Well, worst came to worst, sheer distance should insulate them from the fallout.

If I really had been the hero that Visha imagined me as, I would have jumped in with both feet to dismantle the various criminal entanglements and restore my companies to respectability. Certainly, as the biggest shareholder, some might argue it was my moral responsibility to do so.

To these hypothetical critics I say, survival trumps morality. Right now the only company I cared about was Silver Lance, because it would give me the power I needed to survive my enemies. But training my own mage force from scratch was a hideously expensive proposition, even with all the government subsidies. I needed money, and lots of it, and however bankrupt their morals, my corporate ventures were showing healthy dividends. Thus, in spite of my qualms, I left the proxy for my shareholder votes in the hands of my chosen CEOs. Let them continue to rule my companies as their own fiefs, and let them make whatever decision they felt was best for their bottom lines. I had my own bottom line, and as long as they kept mindful of it, they could do as they liked.

* * *

**October 27, 1931, Londinium, Allied Kingdom**

Kelust Gulbenk liked to think of himself as a good man. Unlike most wealthy people who harbored such a conceit, there existed witnesses who might willingly support such a claim.

Over the years he had donated millions of pounds to churches, orphanages, hospitals, and other such worthy causes, and not just in his homeland, but across three continents. True, finance experts estimated him to be worth somewhere in the neighbourhood of fifty million pounds (their estimates were badly short), but Kelust liked to think that charity with no strings attached was always a virtue, no matter how much one could afford it.

In fact, he'd always disliked the religious parable of how a few coppers donated by a pauper held more virtue than large sums from the rich. No matter how virtuous a poor donor might be, it was a simple fact that in this sinful world, you needed the big bucks to get things done. And if his charitable donations brought him to the attention of various important people who would then proceed to open yet more doors for him? Goodwill begat goodwill, no matter what jealous cynics might say.

But no matter how much he might wish peace and prosperity on all, even a good man can be pushed too far.

For Kelust, 'too far' had come fifteen years previously, when the Turkmen Empire had slaughtered millions of his fellow Armenians.

It had been more than a murder of his people. It had been a deeply personal betrayal. For decades, he had loyally served the Turkmen court. He'd been their fixer, their wheeler-dealer, their expert on all things oil. It had been his task to negotiate with the oil-hungry Western powers to get the Turks the best deal they could. His position as the middleman had made him fabulously wealthy, but it had been a tiny fraction of the wealth in hard currency, modern technology, and industrial investment he had brought to the Empire. He had high hopes of leveraging his position to buy better treatment for his fellow Armenians, to bring them out of second-class citizenship.

Then the massacres started. The Armenians were not the only ones to suffer. For years, a systematic policy of murder and deportation was carried out against numerous minority populations within the Empire. The Armenians, being one of the most populous, were one of the hardest hit.

Many reasons had been given, but as far as Kelust was concerned, the real reason was that someone had to serve as a scapegoat. The Turkmen government had needed someone to blame for a decade of expensive military failures in Rumelia and the Caucasus, and their ethnic minorities were an easy target.

All his hard-earned prestige and favor with his rulers had dried up overnight. He and his family were forced to flee Istanbul. He'd spent money like water trying to save as many of his people as he could. Tens of thousands of Armenians owed him their lives, and they had been but a drop in the bucket.

The fifteen years since had its share of ups and downs. More ups than downs, if he was being honest. He'd managed to get out most of his wealth, and his real value had always been in his contacts. The Franks, Imperials, Albish, and Americans might not like speaking to each other, but they were all willing to talk to the friendly Armenian who had done so much for them before. He'd continued playing the middleman between industrial giants and collecting his percentage, until his assets had expanded to the point where he could sit at their table as an equal.

But he had never forgotten his roots, and even as he expanded his interests, he'd always kept an eye out for the chance to pay back the empire that had treated him so shabbily. Which led him here and now, to a luxurious conference room in Londinium. Seated around the large table were representatives of all the biggest oil exploration companies from America, Albion, Francois, and Ildoa. It was he who had brought them together, for arguably one of the greatest business agreements in modern history - an agreement on how to best exploit the vast oil reserves within the Turkmen empire.

He smiled around the table. "So, gentlemen, are we agreed in principle? From this moment on, we will move jointly on any exploration and utilization of oil resources in Anatolia, Mesopotamia, and the Arabian Peninsula?"

"Sounds good to me. I'm plumb tired of them ragheads trying to play us off each other. It's about time they learn to put up or shut up," replied the American lead representative.

"I'd still have preferred it if we could have gotten the Empire on-board," muttered the man from the Anglo-Persian Oil Company. "As it is, they could monopolize the Turkmen oil by outbidding us."

"They can try," agreed Kelust. "But they are operating under certain limits. The Prussian Empire possesses neither our markets nor our expertise. Sooner or later, the Turkmen must agree to cooperate with us, if they want to reach our customers. And once they do, the Prussians may very well join us, if only to take advantage of our prices."

"And if they decide to get stubborn? They're already selling to the Empire. They could keep themselves going on just that much, and wait for us to give in."

"Fortunately, there is a simple answer." Kelust walked up to a large map on the wall depicting the Middle East and Persia. Taking out a green marker, he drew a border circling the Arabian Peninsula and Mesopotamia. Conspicuously left out was the Turkmen Empire's heartland of Anatolia.

Firmly slapping the cap back on the pen, Kelust pointed at the map. "The Turks have been slowly losing their grip outside their homeland in Anatolia for years. All these regions represent areas that have been chafing against their influence." Nodding in acknowledgement to the Anglo-Persian Oil rep, he continued, "Albion has already become the _de facto_ protectors of the Omani sultanate, and thanks to your company we have made solid inroads into the Trucal States. With a little bit of effort, we can pry away the rest."

Kelust focused on keeping his breathing even. This was it. The moment of truth. These men before him were not mere company executives. With the vital strategic importance of oil, each of them were effectively representatives of their national interest. Much like the trading companies of yesteryear, these were the new empire-builders, the seekers of the black gold. And when you started a gold rush… someone was bound to get trampled.

"Can you actually do it?" asked the American.

Kelust had to fight from grinning. "I worked in these areas for years. Even now, I know most of the players. It will take time to do it discreetly, but give it a year or two, and all of Arabia will be struck by a wave of revolution. Revolutions that will need arms and funding. Good thing the new would-be emirs are all sitting on something very valuable, yes?"

The Frank spoke up at that point. "You act as if this is already our only option. Surely this is only a last resort?"

"Of course," agreed Kelust genially. "Really, it will be simpler for all of us if the Turks agree to cooperate with us. Fortunately, I still have many friends in the court. As soon as they realize the strength of our bloc, they should be eager to expedite matters."

_Except they won't. I'll make sure of it. _Kelust kept that thought private. Instead his voice grew mournful, "However, I know, none better, just how volatile Turkmen politics can be. It is entirely possible they will choose to be intransigent as a point of national pride. If they do… well, the truth is, we need that oil. The world needs that oil. The prosperity of your various nations may very well depend on it."

Looking around, Kelust held out his hands helplessly. "At the end of the day, I am just your agent. Should you choose otherwise, should you decide your countries can afford the luxury of allowing the Turkmen to be stubborn… I am but your servant. What will it be, gentlemen?"

As he looked on, Kelust could see the appeal to patriotism doing its work. Which was ironic, because he was confident there wasn't a single patriotic bone within any one of his fellow oilmen. What there was, however, was greed, entitlement, and arrogance. All they had lacked was a fig leaf. Now they were no longer greedy bastards planning to foment rebellion to get their way. They were patriots looking out for the best interest of their respective countries.

Slowly, then more quickly, the decisions were made. Kelust Gulbenk would represent their consortium to the Turkmen court. There, he would do his best to get the Turkmen to cooperate with their requirements. And if the worst should happen and they refused, then their representative was to undertake a tour of the region to seek out "local business partners".

Kelust had to remind himself that he shouldn't celebrate prematurely. Now came arguably the trickiest part of the whole exercise. He would have to spend months, perhaps years in Istanbul. Pretending to do his best to get the Turkmen to sign on, while secretly working to ensure they didn't. And then he'd have to start fomenting rebellion within the Empire, while not getting caught. At least he could expect the help of Albion's intelligence service for that one. The Anglo-Persian Oil Company had a gratifyingly close relationship with their government.

Actually getting into the Turkmen Empire would be relatively straightforward. The pogroms had ended several years ago, so his life wouldn't be in danger. And no matter how much they might hate his people, the Istanbul court seemed to turn suddenly egalitarian whenever the Armenian in question was wealthy and well-connected.

As Kelust got into his car, he had to fight to keep his hands from shaking. Just a bit more work, and a bit more luck, and within the decade the Turkmen Empire would cease to exist. While he would prefer to attend the execution of every general and politician who signed off on the slaughter of his people, he hadn't gotten to his current position without recognizing the limits of the possible. The people responsible might be physically out of his reach, so he would satisfy himself by grinding their precious empire into dust under the wheels of progress.

* * *

**November 10, 1931, Ispagnian Angola**

Mary wiped the sweat from her brow. One thing she hadn't missed about the tropics was the heat. While it could get pretty hot in summer in the Empire, it wasn't this insufferable sticky mess that left her feeling awful and gross within an hour of taking a bath. And since she didn't always have time for laundry, half the time she was putting on the same sweat-soaked clothes she'd taken off before her bath. The joys of being forced to travel light.

Sure, they could have hired porters. But considering they were running a secret investigation with a decent chance of people shooting at them, any civilians they brought along were potential liabilities. Putting aside daydreams of swimming pools and butlers with chilled wine, Mary tried to cudgel her tired brain into doing its job and investigating her surroundings.

This was a moderate-sized community, deep inland, about a little over a hundred kilometers from Ispagnian Angola's north-east border with Imperial Congo. The Ispagnian garrison had been drawn down to almost nothing, most of the soldiers being recalled thanks to the increasingly chaotic political situation in the mother country. But it didn't seem to have negatively affected the settlement. If anything, the place seemed to be… bustling.

Mary sat back in her chair on the hotel verandah and looked out over the village center, pursing her lips in thought. The years of globe-trotting had taught her how to get a feel for new places, and this one had a definite energy in the air. Not a happy energy either, the kind that came from stable, prosperous societies. No, instead it put her in mind of… yes, that time some years back when they went to Hollywood to interview John Hughes. This place had the same air - opportunity and danger, that could make or break those caught up in the tide. _Boom town_. That was the phrase she was looking for. But there were sharp differences. In Hollywood, the dangers had been mostly economic and social. Here, they were very, very physical.

Every native was armed with at least a knife, and the few white faces glared around suspiciously, hands on their guns. New, hastily constructed shacks hinted at a recent population spike. Unconsciously, Mary slowly ran her tongue out on her lower lip. She could almost _taste_ the burnt nitrocellulose in the air. But while there was some fear, more people were moving around with an avaricious gleam in their eye. Particularly the young blacks in the late teens and early twenties. These moved in packs, seemingly on the lookout for something. Hopefully not for her.

Movement caught her eye, and she straightened up as she saw Elya heading for the hotel. She hated to admit it, but Elya was better than her at getting people - particularly men - to open up. And it was a simple fact that a lone woman looked far less threatening than two working together. Even if it did mean having to listen to her Imperial partner's innuendo-laden debriefings.

Mary wished Paquet could have accompanied them, but the Francois detective was with Captain Strong. They were both still in Europe, following up what few clues existed on the disappearance of Dr. Schugel.

When the Imperial officer joined her at the verandah, Mary immediately knew something was wrong. Elya's smile was a bit too stiff, and her greeting a bit too proper. It occurred to Mary that the last time she'd seen Elya like this was just after that disastrous run-in with Degurechaff back in the Congo.

"What happened?"

Elya gave her a too-large grin. "Aww, you worried about me?"

Mary rolled her eyes. At least her playing around meant they were in no immediate danger. "I just don't want to hear you've managed to screw up the entire investigation when we've barely even started."

The redhead stuck her nose snootily in the air while waving around a small rucksack. "I will have you know that _I_ managed to find definite clues that Cold Steel has in fact been poking their noses into Angola."

Normally such a declaration would have Mary champing at the bit, but this time all she could hear was the slight, almost unnoticeable, tremble in Elya's voice. Not knowing what else to do, Mary repeated herself. "What happened?"

"Not much. Not much. Killed a child." Elya gave a shaky laugh as she ran her hand through her hair.

Mary took a deep breath, double checked the sound-muffling spell, then let a sharp note of command enter her voice. "Start from the beginning, Lieutenant Roth."

It was one of the many little peculiarities of working with Interpol. Elya might hold a higher military rank than her, but as long as they were wearing their Interpol hats, Mary had seniority. Normally, if Mary tried to lean on that rule, all it would get her was even more teasing from the Imperial. It genuinely worried her that this time the formal tone actually seemed to calm Elya down.

"So… I was asking around for mil-spec gear that might be available for sale. Particularly guns."

Mary nodded. The whole reason they were in Angola was because of the increasing rumors of armed groups seizing territory along the Angola-Congo border, and foreign military supplies showing up in the Angolan black market. There was absolutely no proof that it had anything to do with Cold Steel… except that a lot of Cold Steel's operating areas were right on the other side of the border.

"Well, I found some old Mausers, and it looks like the local garrison's armory leaks like a sieve. Incidentally, the local black market has pretty much stopped accepting pesetas. It's gold or nothing."

Mary inclined her head to show she understood. With the chaos in Ispagnia, the peseta had dropped like a rock. It was no surprise that people might start preferring harder currencies.

Elya tapped her finger. "And speaking of gold. I saw people trading in gold dust and rough diamonds. I don't know if that's normal or not for this place…" With a quick shake of the head, she got back to her story. "So, anyway, I asked around. Flashed some gold marks. Got a bite."

She took a deep breath. "The boy I spoke to - around my age - seemed reasonable enough. But the friend he took me to meet decided it would be more fun to rob and rape the dumb white bitch. I wasn't worried. Trained mage, I figured I'd smack them around a bit, they'd wisen up. Except the second guy. The one who started the mess. Just would not stay down. He pulled a gun. I pulled my knife and put out a mage blade. He ran into it."

Elya let out a nervous giggle. "I'm serious, Mary. He literally ran right into it. I think he was planning to shove the gun right in my face or something. Not that it matters. You know, they warn us in basic just how sharp those things are, but until you use them… You know, his body weight was enough for the blade to carve right through him as he fell? Blood _everywhere_. Not on me though. Lucky, that. The others were shouting so much… I don't think they even heard me telling them to surrender. One dug out a sub-gun. Rapid-fire weapon… I panicked. Swung at his head. Got stuck halfway into his skull."

There was a deep breath, and all amusement vanished from Elya's voice. "There was a third one there. A boy. Younger than me when I was first conscripted. Think he might have been related to one of the others. Doesn't matter. He was screaming and swinging at me with a small axe. Out of his mind with fear. He was not a threat at all. I could have disarmed him easily. But all I saw was that axe coming at me. I stabbed him. Right between the eyes. And you know what was the first thing that came to me, after he was dead? _Thank God it's quiet, now I can think._"

Mary swallowed. She remembered Elya saying how she'd never faced actual combat during the war. These would be her first kills. A pair of armed thugs, and a child who fell in with them. Mary had never thought she would ever be in a position where she'd want to comfort the other woman, but she did her best. "Even if he was not a threat, he was still trying to kill you. It still counts as self-defense."

"Does it? Does it really?"

"I think it does." Mary replied, trying to put as much conviction in her voice as she could.

"And what if I disagree?"

"That's between you and God, Elya. Besides, I've hardly got room to judge. I signed up to hunt down a twelve-year-old."

"Hah. So you admit you only joined Interpol because of your revenge hard-on for Degurechaff."

"Do not _ever_ say it that way again."

The both shared a laugh, because it was either that or cry, and both of them were too proud to cry in public. The tasteless joking seemed to have settled Elya somewhat, because she continued in a more normal voice. "No one got a shot off, but there had been a lot of screaming. I tossed on a disguise, grabbed what I came for, and here I am."

"We're damn lucky this place is out of magic detection range," noted Mary. "What did you get anyway?"

Elya reached into the pack. "That sub-gun I mentioned? Here. Look familiar?"

Mary's eyes widened as she looked down at the stubby little weapon. It was, in fact, quite familiar, if only from photographs. "The Scorpion machine pistol," she whispered. "This proves Cold Steel has a hand in here somewhere."

"Them or Velvet Iron. Most likely Cold Steel though," agreed Elya. "From the few things they let drop, there's a definite trickle of these coming in from somewhere on the other side of the border."

Mary listened quietly as her fingers fiddled with the weapon's mechanisms. After a few seconds, she'd ejected the magazine and the chambered round. Examining the cartridge, she noted it as 9mm Luger, then moved on to examine the weapon. Looking down the barrel, she grimaced. "This thing is filthy."

"Yeah, weapon maintenance didn't seem high on the list of priorities for those fools," sighed Elya. "Bunch of young idiots. God knows how they even got their hands on this piece."

"Spare mags?" asked Mary.

"Didn't find any." Elya seemed to have calmed down some, and was now looking at the gun with interest. "So, most likely our favorite robber barons are poking their noses into Angola. The real question though, who's pulling the strings?"

That really was the big question. The months they'd spent tracking stock movements in Berun indicated that Cold Steel - and most likely Degurechaff - had been initially bankrolled by mysterious entities in Waldstatten. But after the company went public a lot of stock got privately bought up by powerful figures in the Empire, Albion, and the Americas. Trying to figure out exactly who was in charge anymore was extremely tricky, with half a dozen large shareholders. Which made it doubly important to figure out why Cold Steel was pushing into Angola. Because Cold Steel had absolutely no official permission to operate in Ispagnian territory, which was a far cry from the pretense of legality they were usually so careful to maintain.

Yes, officially, there was nothing linking this gun to Cold Steel. Mary was sure their lawyers would happily point out that the Scorpion was available for sale in multiple countries. And she was also sure they'd be hiding behind third parties and cat's-paws for their Angolan adventure.

Yet, it was still a departure from their usual methods. Particularly with their usual hatchet-woman, Degurechaff, suspected to be far away in the Turkmen Empire. Profit was always a motive, but as the fall of the previous Imperial Chancellor had shown, Cold Steel's activities can and did have a political component. So why Angola? Ispagnia was perhaps the only major European power that had been completely uninvolved in the great war and its aftermath. It didn't seem like a target for Degurechaff. Could this be the power behind the Imperial fugitive, finally showing their hand?

"We're not seeing it, but there has to be a reason someone wants trouble in this colony," she murmured to Elya.

"Or they could just want money," Elya answered. "From what I saw there's a lot of valuable stuff hidden in the river valleys up north."

"You think it's that simple?"

"Be nice if it was."

Mary huffed, then looked out at the settlement. "We're going to have to head into the border areas, aren't we?"

Elya nodded somberly. Mary glanced at her and asked, "Will you be alright? This whole trip is pushing the edge of our remit. If you want we can back out…" she stopped at Elya's scowl.

"I'm not fragile, Sioux," the redhead growled. "I'll get over it. And this is big. If we're right, someone's just started a proxy war. We're Interpol. It's our job to poke our noses into messes like this. No matter how bad it stinks."

Mary lifted her hands in surrender. "All right, all right. So, what next?"

"You clean up the gun. I'll see if I can find more ammo for it."

"We're using it?"

"Not much use as evidence, is it? And it'll be more useful than our Colts if we run into people meaning us harm."

Mary considered this for a moment, then told Elya, "See if you can find another one. And some spare mags. And try not to kill anyone else while you're at it."

"I changed my mind. You can go black market shopping. I'll clean this one up."

The next few minutes of bickering didn't quite dissipate the tension. But it did settle Mary's mind. She'd already seen the trouble armed natives could cause in the Congo, but the situation in Angola seemed much larger in scope. Degurechaff herself might not be directly involved, but she felt certain it was all part of the same weave. They just had to find the right string and start tugging.

Aiming down the newly cleaned Scorpion, she pulled the trigger. The action cycled with a very satisfying _click_.


End file.
